


call it intimacy

by youspeakmysoul



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, but emily prentiss the most, everyone just needs a hug (and therapy), set across season seven, the whole gang is here in some form, you can take a found family trope from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youspeakmysoul/pseuds/youspeakmysoul
Summary: The things they see everyday, it’s easier to just leave a part of yourself at home, away from it all, and for a moment it looks like he will leave her to it before swiftly changing his mind. “Come over for dinner.”(or, five times Emily spends the night with Hotch)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 34
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot that quickly got out of control, I just wanted emily to have the support she deserved after coming back. Picks up immediately following episode twelve of season seven _Unknown Subject_ and as far as i’m concerned this is canon (everything except beth i’m sorry bellamy young i love you). The title is from clario “i wouldn’t ask you” for obvious reasons, enjoy!

\

“I’m having a bad day.” 

She’s taken a risk based on the time it usually takes the others to make their way back to the airport. Factoring in the time Hotch told them to be back for, if she’s lucky, there’s at least half an hour before everyone else starts making it back to the jet. Knowing Hotch would be the first one back was an easy assumption. What she can’t yet determine is how he’ll respond. 

It’s something she’s been working on, emotional honesty. Compartmentalisation usually works better for her when she’s not personally involved. 

Hotch surprises her by wordlessly rising from the seat he just occupied in front of her and moving to the back of the jet, a moment of time that she uses to take a quick deep breath, glancing upward to make sure she’s not in danger of letting any tears fall just yet. He returns with two steaming cups and reaches across her to place one in front of the window seat next to her. She looks up at him, confused before he gestures with the cup still in his hand for her to move over. 

She sighs a little dramatically just for the thrill of it but does as he wishes. He surprises her again and slides in to the seat next to her. She’s grateful that for whatever conversation he might insist upon next, _a reprimand for getting too close, mandatory time off, desk duty, suggestive continuation of therapy and so on, she knows the drill_ at least she won’t have to look him. It’s too much to have him facing her with tears in her eyes and that she could be forced to deal with pity above everything else.

Except no attempt at conversation comes, just his gentle blowing on the hot cup in his hands. 

Paying attention to her drink for the first time she realises they’re both made from a box of black jasmine tea she’s kept on board since she came back. Finds it a welcome relief from coffee especially when they’ve just finished a case and have survived on nothing but coffee and take out for days.

“I didn’t know you drank tea.” It’s an inane thing to say but the silence is a little unnerving and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him drink anything on the jet but coffee and the occasional scotch, usually at Rossi’s insistence. Her cup however is made perfectly so there’s no doubt that he’s seen her make herself a cup and remembered how she takes it; no creamer, one sugar.

“You did the right thing with Regina, she may not thank you for it but it was the right thing to do.” 

She snorts inelegantly in surprise before shaking her head slightly and fixing her eyes on the table, wrapping both hands around the cup, trying to soak up the warmth, “Yeah, for who? She was right, I couldn’t promise her that he’s never going to see the light of day again.” 

“Killing someone doesn’t bring closure, you and I both know that.”

Of course he’s right, if there’s anyone that understands what it’s like to be hunted by your past, it’s him and there are still times she feels just as exposed over Doyle as she had when he was still alive. It worries her how quickly a case can unravel, far from being the worst case they’ve ever worked on but she doesn’t think she’s empathised so much with a victim since coming back and it caught her off guard.

There was a very real part of her that wanted to let Regina pull the trigger if there was even the slightest possibility it would bring her closure. This coming only days after she was trying so hard to reassure him that she was managing just fine, that she wasn’t a cause for concern.

He doesn’t try to coax her into conversation or insist she explain how she’s feeling, just lets her sit and drink her tea appreciative of the quiet. Yet she almost regrets telling him as soon as the others slowly trickle on board, convinced there must be a glowing neon sign above her head letting them all know that she’s not okay. Believing that if she can feel his eyes on her that means everyone else can as well but it’s the only thing he asked for, to let him know.

As expected, no one says anything but she still half expects him to move from the seat next to her. That feels more telling than anything else.

She risks a quick look at JJ as she raises her eyebrows and joins them in the seat across from her but Emily just shrugs her off with a quick smile as Hotch seemingly ignores them both, flicking through a case file. She can never tell if he actually is reading or if that’s just his way of having some time to himself to decompress. 

Closing her eyes as Hotch gets up to tell the pilot they’re ready, she feels marginally better, almost relieved, as though it may not be the worst thing in the world to acknowledge how she’s feeling. Maybe that’s redundant considering how everyone looks at her differently since coming back but not Hotch, not yet anyway. She knows he was right, she _has_ been trying too hard trying to convince herself and everyone else that she still belongs here. 

That no matter who she was or what she did, she still knows them and loves them, that they are a family and she’s a part of that. If she can convince herself that she is still worth having around, that they still want her- maybe she has stretched herself too thin trying to be everything to everyone but if she can’t make amends that way, how can she? She’s not surprised that Hotch noticed, only that he called her on it.

As the man in question makes his way back to his seat and picks up another case file. It’s so quiet she considers catching a few hours of sleep on the jet but can’t face it just yet. There’s not enough time for her to get comfortable considering how short the flight is and even though she feels calmer with him next to her, it still feels too vulnerable.

JJ doesn’t appear to have the same trouble, curled in on herself up against the window with her eyes closed, Emily envies her magical ability to sleep just about anywhere. Deciding she might as well make herself useful, she grabs one of the files out from Hotch’s stack of paperwork and ignores his surprised expression but he doesn’t miss the way she smiles slightly at catching him off guard. 

/

It’s not late, only an hour or two since they arrived back in D.C. to an ever increasing plie of paperwork that she would much rather attempt to tackle instead of heading home. Admittedly, she’s lost track of time since saying goodbye to the others but she’s the last one still around, everyone else having taken advantage of heading home early, bar Hotch, of course. 

She thinks that if she just has a little more time to deal with the day, pack everything away neatly, she can face going back to her empty apartment. Tries not to think about Regina and whether she’ll ever be able to be alone in her house the same way again. 

The answer is of course no, it’s the same reason she chose a new apartment so completely different to her previous one in D.C. that Doyle had tainted simply by knowing where it was. It’s probably a testament to how distracted she is when she doesn’t hear Hotch leaving his office before he stops in front of her desk. She can usually sense him coming, as strange as that sounds. 

“Prentiss, what are you still doing here?” He’s got his briefcase in hand, clearly ready to leave, assuming she had already done the same. 

Emily shrugs half-heartedly, knowing there’s not an answer that isn’t simply she hadn’t wanted to go home yet, “I’m leaving soon, promise.” She makes a show of shuffling around some papers and as painfully obvious as the action is she can only hope he leaves her to it. 

He must understand wanting to put things back together alone, he might as well written the book on it. It took him almost dying for there to be even a crack in this facade and she understands, he’s their fearless leader, stable and resilient. The things they see everyday, it’s easier to just leave a part of yourself at home, away from it all, and for a moment it looks like he will leave her to it before swiftly changing his mind. “Come over for dinner.” 

It sounds like more of a command than an invitation and it leaves her more than a little confused, she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s been to his place since she came back, really since they caught Foyet and she lost her obvious excuses to be there. He’s so intensely private she can’t understand what would make him want her there beyond misplaced concern. “Hotch that really isn’t necessary, trust me.” 

He stares her down, knowing deflection is the first excuse, “It wasn’t a request.”

Emily huffs out a breath of a laugh, “I won’t be great company, plus I’ve got to get home to Sergio.” It’s not that much of a lie, she has someone to look in on him to make sure he’s being fed and allowed to roam around causing trouble, no doubt to her certains as usual. 

She wouldn’t be trying this hard to say no if it was anyone else but it’s Hotch, she wouldn’t have to worry about having dinner with anyone else like this, she’s good at putting on a brave face but it’s always different with Hotch, he sees too much of her. It doesn’t help that no one is as persistent, when he puts his mind to it, they know her well enough to take her refusal as an answer the first time. 

“Think of it as a distraction, it helps with bad days.” A hint of emotions bleeds in to his voice and she almost asks if he speaks from experience but that would be self-indulgent, she already knows he does. This wasn’t what she had in mind when he told her to let him know when she’s having a bad day, there’s no way she could have predicted Hotch wanting her to come home with him.

Even if she doesn’t completely understand, she trusts him and really what could it hurt? “Okay.”

“So go home, do what you need to, we’ll have dinner and then you should take the spare room,” he speaks casually but carefully as though he’s detailing what their next steps on a case might be, as though this is a conversation they’ve had hundreds of times. 

She must have heard him wrong, she’s well aware how personally he feels responsible for them all but as far as she can tell this is a new level of concern. It’s not her first time staying over between the weeks following Foyet and Haley’s death, she had practically bullied him in to it but not in the months she’s been back in the country. “You want me to stay, what about Jack?”

“I’m just about to pick him up, you know he’d love to see you.” That she’s not quite sure about. She loves Jack, of course she does. It was Jack she focused on after Haley’s death, knowing Hotch wouldn’t appreciate her hovering, he was more willing to let her spend time with Jack under the guise of keeping her eyes on them both. Garcia and Reid have the privilege of being Henry’s godparents but she’s rarely felt that comfortable around children. As close as she is to JJ, she’s not the person she calls to babysit and Emily is more than okay with that. 

There’s always been a slight disconnect between them maybe because JJ and Penelope are closer in age or maybe it is her enthusiasm with Henry. Emily’s happy for her and would do anything to protect them both but she’s never been more unsure of herself than around children. Declan had been a wonderful exception, Jack is too.

He had taken a shine to her from the very beginning. As each of the team grabbed every opportunity to check up on Hotch and Jack in the aftermath, it was Emily he asked for. He’s so much like his father with all the heart and lightness of his mother, how could she not fall in love with him. Perhaps that is exactly the kind of evening she needs right now. 

Hotch is still waiting on her answer with the same stoic expression he usually wears but she can notice a hint of a smile as he waits for her to think it over, she sees too much of him too. “Prentiss, that’s an order.”

Emily hesitates for just a moment even though she knows he’s teasing before her lips quirk slightly and she raises her hand to somewhat mockingly salute him, “Yes Sir.” 

He waits stubbornly at her desk and looks at her expectantly until she rolls her eyes and obligingly reaches over to turn off her computer, at least looking like she’s committed to leaving and ever the gentleman he stays to walk her to her car after getting another reassurance that she’ll let him know when she’s on her way.

As she enters her empty apartment, it hits her desperately that she misses her old apartment. She used to think about it all the time in Paris, but she couldn’t work out if it was just the memories inside that flat that she missed. She’s not invited anyone over yet, she’s barely even unpacked her old things from storage, justifying it as only an in between space with a short term lease as she looks for somewhere better. She had been saving the opportunity for when she gets something a bit more permanent.

Put down roots, buy a proper place that will feel like home, as though the feeling of home will be easily fixed with the right house.

For a split second she’s almost glad to not have to spend the evening alone that would no doubt involve a large glass of wine and passing out on the sofa in front of an old film. It reminds her too much of Paris; returning home to an empty apartment after spending the days willing herself not to look over her shoulder but that’s still what she’s doing, searching the shadows of every room she’s in. She’s trained to not let it appear to bother her so much but she’s trying to feel safe again in D.C. and knows that will take time. 

Throwing her keys on her side table, she’s suddenly exhausted and it feels even more tempting to call Hotch to cancel and the thing is he would let her, he wouldn’t hold it against her. Instead she makes the decision to change in to something a lot more comfortable as she assumes dinner with Hotch is a low-key affair and dumps everything out of her go bag in to the wash so she can pack a new change of clothes.

She tries very hard not to think about the implications of packing a bag to stay the night at Hotch’s, focusing rather on Sergio who she finds stretched out asleep on her bed. Deciding not to tempt fate by waking him up, she refreshes his food and water bowls and quietly heads back out the door before she can second guess herself. 

/

Less than twenty minutes later she still feels somewhat ridiculous; standing in front of his door, trying to work up the courage to knock. She’s already texted him to let him know she’s on her way but it feels as though she’s on the cliff of something she’s not yet ready to face. Taking a deep breath she knocks, it never could be said that Emily Prentiss is a coward. 

Hotch opens the door almost instantly and it’s a thrill to see SSA Aaron Hotchner in a t-shirt and sweats. He’s usually so buttoned up, quite literally. She remembers a joke Morgan once made about him coming out of the womb in a suit. There’s such a drastic difference from on-the-job Hotch to at-home Hotch. He smiles more readily, rarely looks as though he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jack’s doing, she imagines.

“You made it.” He’s sounds almost surprised but pleased.

“It can’t be said I’ve ever been one to disobey a direct order, so here I am,” she jokes trying not to think about how strange it is that she feels immediately more comfortable here than in her own apartment.

He smiles at that, a dimple appearing in his cheek and raises an eyebrow in disbelief before stepping back to allow her inside. “Now I know that’s not true.” 

She’s just stepped out of her shoes as he closes the door when suddenly there’s a rush of small footsteps and Jack appears behind them. “Emmy!” He barrels toward her, an enthusiasm reserved especially for her that she treasures. It not that he doesn’t love the rest of the team but he’s always taken a special interest in her.

Emily gently drops to her knees so he can wrap his arms around her neck. He’s gotten so big, “Hey Jack-Jack, how’s my favourite Hotchner?” 

Jack giggles in her ear and she tightens her arms around him, breathes him in and for the first time all day she relaxes completely. She’s only seen him a handful of times since her miraculous rise from the dead and refuses to think about how Hotch might have dropped that bombshell on a seven year old. It amazes and humbles her that he’s still willing to share Jack with her after everything he’s been through. “Daddy says you’re having a sleepover.” 

It sounds so much like a double entendre when he says it like that, she almost flinches at the idea of anyone else overhearing but recovers quickly, it’s easy to smile at him like she means it. “Well only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“Let me take your things, dinner shouldn’t be that long,” Hotch offers his hand and she passes him her bag and jacket abandoned on the floor in favour of catching the child rushing toward her.

“Jack, why don’t you show Emily what you’re working on while I finish up in the kitchen?” 

Emily gets to her feet and Jack obligingly grabs her hand and pulls her towards his bedroom.

The space on the floor by his bed is covered in paper and colouring pencils, that, she assumes is their work space. “Daddy and I have been putting together a dinosaur skeleton and I’m making posters like we saw at the museum. 

“Wow, so what kind of dinosaur is this?” She points to a drawing on top of the others, well what she hopes is a picture of a dinosaur. 

“It’s a Brachiosaurus, they only eat leaves that’s why they have such long necks.”

“Like giraffes?”

“Yeah but this much bigger!” He stretches his arms out as wide as they go and wobbles slightly standing up on his tiptoes. 

Emily laughs easily, putting out her hands to steady him. “That big, huh?”

“You can help if you’d like,” he scoops up some blank pages to pass to her and points her in the direction of the colours before she can even respond but she does nonetheless as she settles down on the floor to join him.

“I’d love to.”

Jack keeps up an almost constant commentary from what colours she should be using, to various dinosaur facts he’s memorised from the book he’s currently reading, to asking her for help to spell words that even give her pause. Her back starts to protest a little from sitting on the floor, she hates to think she’s getting old but decides to take an opportunity to stretch and take a break to look in on Hotch in the kitchen. “I’m just going to check on your dad real quick, okay?”

She’s almost jealous of Hotch who gets to come home everyday to this adorable little boy and be drawn in to his world for a change, it feels so much easier to push the events of the day from her mind for a time when Jack warrants so much of her attention. 

Emily takes a minute just to watch Hotch uninterrupted as he moves around the small kitchen with his back to her. She’s forgotten how much she enjoys being in his space, how nice it is to have easy company that isn’t just Sergio, where she doesn’t have to try so hard.

“Is one of these for me?” She gestures to the two glasses of red wine sat on the island as he turns. 

He must have known she was standing there when he doesn’t even flinch, just nods briefly and she picks up both to hand one to him as he stirs a pan. It all feels overwhelmingly domestic.

“It smells incredible, has someone been having one on one lessons at Rossi’s?” 

He laughs, an honest unguarded sound she can’t remember the last time she heard. “As if Dave would let anyone do any actual cooking in his kitchen, no I enjoy cooking, I find it relaxing.”

“I can’t imagine anything less relaxing, my skills in the kitchen only stretch as far as ordering take out.” 

“It’s just about ready, I trust your skills can stretch to setting the table?” He doesn’t need to direct her in the direction of the cutlery drawer.

Jack again takes up much of the conversation at dinner which is a welcome relief, she doesn’t have to think about anything other than listening to him talk about school work; they’re starting a new book in his reading group, friends; there’s a school trip coming up and he can’t decide who to sit beside on the bus there, and of course dinosaurs; he’s angling to be taken back to the museum as soon as Hotch has the day off.

She can’t imagine what is would be like to have this everyday, to have Jack and a dinner conversation where no one discusses work or cases or death, or rather she absolutely can but shouldn’t. It may be the first dinner in a while she’s had that didn’t somewhat revolve around work, she knows Hotch is guilty of that too, especially when he’s not home for dinner.

Emily offers to clear up, Hotch had cooked after all, but he firmly refuses and steers her toward the sofa. Jack happily follows and quickly swindles her in to playing a game of connect four.

Hotch makes quick work of the dishes and by the time he’s finished Jack has already beaten her twice, to her complete surprise, she hadn’t realised you needed skill to play connect four.

“Jack buddy, time to get ready for bed.” It’s getting late and it is a school night but Jack opens his mouth, ready with the start of a protest before Hotch quickly bargains, “and you can read for ten minutes before lights out, now say goodnight to Emily.” 

Knowing Jack, she expects more of a complaint but he must consider the prospect of reading time a good enough trade because he just raises up on his knees enough beside her to wrap his arms around her neck again and she just about catches a muffled _Goodnight_ against her ear. 

“Night honey, sleep tight.”

She tidies up the board game before Hotch returns, topping up the glass still placed in front of her and settles back down on the couch, “So, do you want to talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?”

“Emily.”

She takes a deep breath, well it’s now or never. “It wasn’t just Regina that got under my skin.”

He doesn’t make a sound, simply waits for her to continue and she focuses her gaze on the coffee table. “I know I’m incredibly lucky to not have to worry about Doyle coming back,” she pauses to pick up her glass and tucking her legs underneath her before continuing, “and yet it feels like he’s still here, in the shadows of my bedroom, in my dreams he’s around every corner, he may not have killed me but you still had to bury me.”

It feels like she just let out a breath she’s been holding for months. This can’t be what he imagined when he told her to let him know the next time she was having a bad day, telling him things she hasn’t even dared mention to her therapist. 

“You know no one was expecting you to come back and everything be exactly as it was,” he says slow and serious as though he’s choosing his words carefully but only because it’s important she knows that.

Her eyes dart back to his face, almost gentle hands still cradling the wine glass. “That’s the last thing I would’ve wanted but it all feels too easy. I haven’t made amends, it’s like I still need to justify being on this team. That I can be trusted, relied on. I have so much to make up for leaving them alone.” 

“You were left alone too.” 

The sentiment catches her off guard but she laughs dismissively and a little cold, “I deserved to be left alone.”

“You know that’s not true.” It’s earnest in a way she wants to refute but she lets it linger, unwilling to get caught up in such a conversation tonight. 

It is true though, she made her decisions, brought Doyle in to all of their lives and in return was willing to do whatever was needed to be done to keep them safe and she’d do it all again, even if that meant dying, she doesn’t expect him to have the same considerations.

“Do you remember your first time in my office, when I tried to kick you out?”

She finally turns to face him and smiles, not so much at the memory but at such an abrupt change in subject. Taking a sip of wine, she decides it might be easier to follow it through, “It’s a little hard to forget Hotch, could really make a girl feel she’s not wanted.”

“I didn’t want you.” He says it unthinkingly by the way his eyes widen as the words leave his mouth and she knows it’s not the same now but it still stings, more than she expected it too. Some form of that must show on her face because he hurries to continue.

“But it was never about you, I hated feeling like I was losing control over the team. With everything going on with Elle and Gideon, I was trying to protect them from Strauss and I was wary when you appeared out of thin air, someone I didn’t choose.” 

Not entirely sure how the conversation ended up here, she opens her mouth to try and respond but he shakes his head as though he knows he’s not getting across what he wants to, and she waits for him to get his thoughts in order. “I know, of course, now, that you had no idea what was being played out but it was about protecting the team and now, that includes you. It did a long time ago.”

Emily knows that, really, what they, what _he_ did might have been for the teams protection but, first and foremost, it had been for hers. She hates that she put him in that position, she had made her peace with dying and it would have been worth it if it had meant keeping them safe. It would have broke her heart to be the reason any of them had been hurt.

It’s a little ironic that they started out with him not trusting her and now it’s her who didn’t trust him enough but that’s too simplistic. She trusts him more than anyone and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to not tip off Doyle, only she hadn’t trusted herself to tell him the whole truth. She selfishly hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell him about her past and have to watch him see her with new eyes. 

“It was JJ and I who kept your secret, do you think we don’t feel guilty?” She thinks JJ getting the cold shoulder from Reid and how it must have felt to watch the rest of the team grieve, even if they couldn’t have known that there was ever a chance of her coming back. They protected them and also tore them apart. Thinks about Hotch’s face in the hospital room as he gently informed her that as far as everyone else was concerned, she died on the operating table, that she couldn’t go home. He stood in the middle of it all, held a grieving team together and he did it for her, to protect her.

It’s too much, right now, to consider how much she must have hurt him. That might be her point; she’s finally home and she should be happy, or at least feel like herself again. If not, what was all of it for?

“But,” he continues, with the same intensity. “I wouldn’t have done a single thing differently.”

That’s her chance to steer the conversation away from everything awful about that day to a better memory, one that warmed her a lot more than it should have and she takes it without thinking, “What, even threatening an Interpol agent?” 

She’s rewarded with a surprised laugh as though he didn’t realise she knew, and the sight of tension being released from his shoulders, “It wouldn’t take you disappearing again for that to happen.”

The phone call from Clyde had almost been expected after her rise from the grave, the minute she set foot back on U.S. soil again as Emily Prentiss, as was his complete lack of shock over her resurrection. He had already buried her once after all, well a part of her. Likened her to being a cat with nine lives before bemoaning the idea of her going back to the BAU, but more importantly back to Hotch, something she had never done for him. She couldn’t figure out the joke until he told her just how protective Hotch had gotten trying to track her down in Boston.

Hotch’s expression turns serious once again and he sets his glass down on the coffee table before plucking hers out of her own hands. For one dizzying second it crosses her mind that he might kiss her, it’s not a new thought but it still surprises her that she would think that now. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t but he still leans towards her, “I wouldn’t do a single thing differently because it ensured you are here now. That’s the important part.”

“I don’t know how to fit back in to my old life,” she confesses, so that she doesn’t accidentally say something that is far harder to admit or take back. Here, sitting on his sofa feels like a liminal space, that anything said here won’t have any bearing on the real world. It’s a temporary temptation. 

“Slowly, one day after the other.”

He stands and suddenly the spell is broken but not before he holds out his hand to help her to her feet and she finds herself far too close to him, which sounds ridiculous after spending an evening sitting beside him but it feels true, there’s so often a line that they don’t cross. “You should get some sleep.”

She nods and waits for him to let go of her hand, collect their wine glasses and step back toward the kitchen before she risks using her voice. “Hotch? Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two should be up sometime this week, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’s only half way through her beer but she can feel her eyes growing heavy and attempts to hide a yawn behind her hand, “Sorry it’s getting late, I’ll call a cab.”_
> 
> _A brief expression of surprise flits across his features before smoothing back in place, almost too casual. “Stay. I can lend you something to sleep in.”_

/

The second time he lets her get away with it for almost a week, watches as the bags under her eyes grow darker, fingernails bitten down no matter how hard she tries to hide them and the way her eyes skitter over dark corners. It hasn’t affected her performance in the field, yet, but there’s a definite shift when they’re not on a case, when there’s nothing to focus all of her attention on to, a much welcome distraction.

It’s only Emily and Garcia left in the conference room clearing away old case files, just about ready to head home for the night when Hotch appears in the doorway. 

“Prentiss, a word?” He tilts his head towards his office and waits for her nod of agreement before disappearing again just as suddenly. 

Garcia’s head bobs back and forth between the empty doorway and Emily’s face, almost concerned. “Uh oh, is someone in trouble with the Boss Man?”

Emily rolls her eyes and successfully deflects her attention with a promise to call her tomorrow morning.

Brightening considerably, Garcia leans in and makes an exaggerated kissing noise against her cheek before she wiggles her fingers in goodbye and totters in her heels to the doorway that Hotch just occupied. “You better, sweet cheeks! We have brunch plans, and I haven’t had a full weekend off in weeks so if we get called in on another Sunday I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Emily only smiles, small and exhausted, as she follows her out on to the walkway, subtly gesturing towards Hotch’s office. “I’ll put in a good word.” 

A sense of dread settles in the pit of her stomach as she walks the short number of steps to the door he had kept open for her arrival, stubbornly refusing to close it behind her as she enters, “You wanted to see me?”

She steps in to his office but lingers, staying close to the open doorway almost as a challenge, as though she assumes this won’t take long and there’s no need for his door to be closed if they’re not having a private conversation.

“I did,” he doesn’t even look up at her, continuing to scribble his signature across a piece of paper. “Close the door, have a seat.” 

Well, there goes that idea. It gives her the distinct impression of being called in to the principal’s office like a child, something she experienced all too often, but she has a good idea of what he’s going to say so she lets him start. It would be too revealing to begin with a justification, one she really doesn’t have and she’s feeling somewhat resentful at being forced in to a conversation when all she really wants is to go home. 

Not that it’s really any of Hotch’s business, she’s handling everything just fine on her own, what she doesn’t need is another lecture from him of all people about how she should be keeping her personal life away from the job, or taking some time, as though that would be of any help. Knowing he won’t exactly see it that way, she sighs and sits down heavily in front of his desk, elbows pressed to her thighs so she’s not tempted to pick at her nails.

He finally looks at her as though he suspects what she’s been doing the past couple of days, refusing various offers of after-work dinners or drinks but still making a show of going home at a reasonable time, not working late and not coming in as early as she possibly could even though she’s been awake for hours. 

It’s the first time since coming back that she’s consistently begged off going out with the rest of team, she had previously been the first to agree if not the one to suggest getting together after work. It was guilt that had propelled her, an olive branch of sorts, to discover as much about their lives without her as she could, and it’s guilt that consumes her now for not having the energy to spend time with them, or anyone. It takes enough out of her to wake up everyday and come in to the office to be faced with the horrors people inflict on each other. 

Trying so hard, she thinks, was bound to get his attention. He can hardly hold that against her though, she’s not been visibly overworking in the office and as far as he should be concerned, out of sight-out of mind.

“Emily, what was our deal?”

His voice is as soft as it was on the jet when he told her to let him know; not disappointed as she had expected or a firm suggestion of time off, his usual go to methods of attempting to help, that she was prepared to defend but instead concerned. A sentiment ultimately worse in that it makes her want to pour everything out to him, like she hasn’t already done that and once was more than enough.

She blows out an exhale, “It’s not a bad day, Hotch.”

That much is true, her days at work are a considerable relief from the nights. She doesn’t need another therapist to realise the nightmares she’s been dealing with would appear every now and again, especially with the work she continues to do and where she continues to do it but she feels more raw recently, like a fresh wound that keeps being opened. If she could only work out why now, she’d be better equipped to deal with them.

“So what is it?” He asks abruptly, knowing a direct approach always works best with Emily, a question difficult to brush off or leave any room for sarcasm.

“I’m having trouble sleeping, okay?” Her hands almost shake and she clenches them in to fists by her thighs to ignore them. “I’ve been looking for a new place to live but for the time being I’m stuck in an apartment I hate but I’m fine.” 

By the end of the sentence she sounds overly defensive, even to her own ears, that, she instantly regrets. The lack of sleep makes her jumpy or maybe it’s the amount of coffee she’s drinking to make sure she stays awake. Obviously she realises that may also be a contributing factor to her anxiety but it’s almost preferable to falling asleep.

She’d rather not tell him about the nightmares unless absolutely necessary. 

Hotch looks at his watch and for a moment she feels as though she’s taking up too much of his time, even though _he’s_ the one who asked to speak to _her_ , and fights down a compulsion to apologise when he catches her completely off guard, though in hindsight it really shouldn’t have. “It’s late, have you eaten?” 

The clock on his wall reads almost nine and she realises she hasn’t eaten anything since a disappointing lunch that they both had worked through together, reviewing her input on a home invasion case in Delaware, and beyond the granola bar she found later in her desk and the candy she had stolen from Reid’s. 

He must know she turned down an invitation of dinner at JJ’s; Hotch hadn’t been the only one to pick up on how Emily hasn’t been herself lately but JJ is less likely to push. The gesture had been appreciated, any other week she would have loved nothing more than to sit in JJ’s bright warm kitchen and let herself be teased over her terrible cooking skills with a glass of wine but right now she’d be terribly company and that would only worry her needlessly. 

Sharing a meal with Hotch is different, an undoubtably quieter affair, at least without Jack, but there’s also an ease that comes from not having to fill the quiet. If she can make it through dinner with him without appearing completely burnt out, he might reconsider this campaign of checking up on her and it’s not as though she doesn’t enjoy spending time at his place, she just wishes he wouldn’t feel as though he has to invite her, that she needs watching over. 

She knows him well enough to believe he’s not going to suggest getting something delivered to the office, he should be getting home to Jack and he wants to bring her home too. “I know what you’re doing, Hotch.”

He thinks that if he can stop her from pulling away from everyone again it will somehow fix this discomfort she feels trying to slip back in to her old life. She’s more worried about using him as something to hold on to when she shouldn’t be so getting attached to the idea that she could, as though that hadn’t already happened. He feels responsible for all of them of course, but he’s always willing to try that much harder for her, she’s tempted to let him continue trying. 

“So let me do it.”

She rises to her feet and his eyebrow furrows in concern before she asks, “I’ll meet you at the elevator?”

He only nods and looks the faintest bit relieved. After she gathers her things he drives them both back to his place. It’s late enough that he offers to call from the car to order takeout, “Chinese?”

If she wasn’t so exhausted she’d be tempted to make a joke about her only agreeing to dinner with him on the assumption that he would cook and something about bringing her home under false pretences. She is vaguely disappointed he won’t be cooking though as she did so much enjoy it last time, it’s been a long time since someone has cooked especially for her. 

Hotch hands her his phone to make the order and she doesn’t even have to ask what he’d like, just orders their usuals so they can pick it up on their way past. It’s not her first time ordering for him and it won’t be the last. It feels more intimate when it’s just the two of them ordering for each other but that sounds ridiculous considering they’re not really friends and yet he knows more about her than anyone else.

As they quietly enter his apartment Jack is already in bed and Jessica greets them in the kitchen. Emily sets the food down on the kitchen island having insisted on carrying it up as he hadn’t let her pay, and Hotch made no complaints beyond a roll of his eyes. 

He leaves briefly to look in on Jack who is already fast asleep and Jessica tells her to let Hotch know she says goodnight and to call her this weekend if he needs anything at all before showing herself out. She’s only met Jessica a handful of times but Jack mentions her constantly and she’s always seemed extremely nice, Emily likes her. It makes her glad to see someone in their corner, Jack and Hotch deserve more people like Jessica in their lives.

She’s trying to open the cupboards to pull out plates as quietly as possible, she’d hate to alert Jack to her presence, not that she doesn’t want to see him, she always wants to see him but it’s late enough that she’d hate to potentially wake him. When Hotch comes back, shrugging off his suit jacket to drape over a seat at the dining table and loosening his tie, she imagines she can physically see the tension leaving his body. 

He opens the fridge as she’s plating up and pulls out two bottles of beer, raising his eyebrow. She nods gratefully and takes one with a quiet thanks. He then gestures to the sitting room rather than the dining table and she follows plate in hand, settling both down on the coffee table to tuck her legs underneath her on the couch. 

They eat in comfortable silence for a moment as she realises just how hungry she’s been, she feels comfortable here, on his couch, in his spare room, spending time with his son. Far more comfortable than she does in her own apartment, especially this week that she’s let Sergio stay with Garcia, knowing how attached she’d gotten whilst she was gone, it’s the least she can do. 

They very deliberately don’t talk about the reason she’s here on his couch again so soon and she’s entirely grateful he doesn’t push her in to conversation, he rarely does. Convincing her to come home with him only offers up the possibility for her to get something off her chest, a space to step out of her own head for a moment, something of an outlet, anything she then feels compelled to tell him is coincidental. 

It feels almost like any other night that they’ve inevitably been the last two awake still debating bits of a case over some takeout late at night in an unnamed state in the middle of nowhere. 

“Morgan and I looked at houses last weekend.” It’s a statement that sounds as though she’s just said the first thing to come in to her head but the idea of telling him had been on her mind since she made the decision to look for a new place to live. Considering what else she’s told him, why shouldn’t she want to talk this through with Hotch too?

It helps that he doesn’t appear surprised at her sudden attempt at conversation, but he does sound as though he choses his words carefully. “That sounds like a good thing.”

“It is, I think." It had made her excited to begin with, the possiblity of finding somewhere of her own but she sighs thinking about the actual experience. "Morgan thinks I’ve been finding flaws in all of them where there are none.” Tries not to sound irritated but isn’t sure how well she manages.

She's sure she hasn’t succeeded at all when she catches his lips quirk in to an indulgent smile that he quickly suppresses, “And is he right?” 

“No!” There's no real heat behind it but she doesn’t want to admit that none of them feel like here and is starting to think she won’t ever find it, would rather not consider if that is in fact part due to Hotch and Jack and not the actual place. 

Hotch looks over at her, as though he doesn’t believe her for a second. “Okay, maybe,” she conceeds. “But buying a house is a really big decision, shouldn’t I be at least a little cautious about it?”

He places his half-finished plate on the coffee table and takes a sip of beer, “Why a house?”

It’s an unexpected question but not unwarranted, he’s only known her to have her current and previous apartments, not including the house she had rented to keep an eye on Declan but that was more for practicalities sake than any real desire to own a house. The answer is complicated. She mirrors his movement, placing her own plate on the coffee table, debating how much to tell him, 

“I thought getting a house would somehow fix this feeling of being adrift, it’s supposed to have a sense of permanence, right?”

“Is it working?” He only looks curious, not accusatory or like Morgan when she inevitably lists off her various complaints with each property they’ve just viewed, suggesting that this might not actually be what she wants. 

“I don’t know,” she admits, grabbing her beer from the coffee table, more of just an excuse to do something with her hands. It’s terrifying, of course, she’s never owned a house. She’s had places she considered home, but she keeps coming back to the idea of buying a house, something that would be hers, somewhere she belongs. The actual process makes her a little sick to her stomach, but she pushes that feeling down.

Her eyes drift around his apartment, even holding such awful memories he still manages to make it feel like a home; photos and Jack’s drawings are stuck to the fridge and there’s forgotten Lego under the coffee table. It’s smaller than the house he shared with Hayley obviously, with what she assumes is the need for less space being only the two of them but she’s still surprised he hadn’t decided to move after the ordeal with Foyet. 

She doesn’t believe she could remain in an apartment where she had almost bled out on to the same floor but she was the one to find him and admittedly it’s not the first memory that comes to mind when she thinks about his apartment. Initially, she believed it was more suited to be only a place for Hotch to sleep when he wasn’t at the office after the separation but she imagines Jack has the ability to turn anywhere in to a home. 

“Do you think about getting somewhere else?”

“Why? Are you looking for a roommate?” 

A laugh bubbles out of her and by the smile that plays around his mouth, dimples and all, that’s what he had been hoping for and continues, “I know Jack would like a garden, somewhere with more space so he can bring friends over. He doesn’t remember much of our old house but he remembers the garden.”

“What’s stopping you?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of beer, “Time, mostly.” 

That, at least, she can sympathise with. She’s only half way through her beer but she can feel her eyes getting heavy and attempts to hide a yawn behind her hand, “Sorry it’s getting late, I’ll call a cab.”

A brief expression of surprise flits across his features before smoothing back in place, almost too casual. “Stay. I can lend you something to sleep in.”

Coming from anyone else she’d think it was a line to get her in to bed, hell she’s used that line but coming from Hotch all she imagines is that he is trying to fix things. She tells him she hasn’t been sleeping well, he offers her a place to stay. It’s that simple, at least on the surface. He doesn’t do or say things impulsively, at least not usually, she’s coming to believe he may have entirely different rules when it comes to her. 

She thinks about her dark lonely apartment and agrees, it’s saturday tomorrow and hopefully they won’t be called in, it wouldn’t hurt to actually try and get a good nights sleep and there’s a better chance of that happening here. It’s reckless to get too attached to his spare room no matter how well she may sleep there, it’s can’t be permanent. 

Taking her lack of refusal for an answer, Hotch gathers up their plates and brings them to kitchen before returning with a t-shirt that’s big enough for her to use as a night shirt and a pair of joggers she’s sure to have to roll up a few times, “The spare room is still made up and there’s a toothbrush under the sink.”

He looks so sincere it makes her nervous for some unknowable reason and she makes a joke before something equally sincere can come out of her mouth. “The five star Hotchner experience, how much should I be tipping?”

He does roll his eyes at that, the exact response she wanted but she also catches a soft smile. “Goodnight, Emily.” 

/

In the early light of day Emily panics, just a little. The last time she ended up staying the night, even though she had her go bag with her, she contemplated leaving before Hotch and Jack woke up- couldn’t shake the feeling that she was intruding. It had made sense for her to attempt to leave early what with it being a school day and knowing Hotch would have his hands full getting Jack and himself ready to leave on time. 

She vividly remembers waking up to the distant sound of Hotch’s alarm clock, so surprised to sleep through the night she hadn’t considered setting one. Bracing herself for what could have been a stilted morning, she had stayed knowing she would feel worse just leaving without getting a chance to say goodbye to Jack. Breakfast, however, had been nice, as hectic as she had imagined but nice. Hotch quietly made her coffee, Jack talked more about his upcoming school trip, sounding far too excitable for the early morning and she was almost disappointed to leave before them, beating Hotch in to the office.

Last night, she had enough mind to set an alarm. It’s still early and a part of her wishes she stayed in the warm cocoon of blankets but this is for the best. If she can slip out before they wake up she’ll be fine, Jack doesn’t even know she’s here but she doesn’t want to risk upsetting him, having stayed over and then leaving as soon as he wakes up. 

The part of her that is still exhausted even after her first decent night's sleep in a while debates making a coffee as she waits to call a cab when Jack suddenly pads in to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Hi Emmy, did you have another sleepover?”

He doesn’t look surprised to see her which she takes as a good sign but he also looks a little disoriented as though he has just woken up himself. “I did, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodnight.” 

“It’s okay, you must’ve been working late like Daddy. Can I have a glass of orange juice please, the cups are up there,” he points above her head and a warmth settles in her that he doesn’t appear to mind her unannounced presence in his kitchen early on a saturday morning.

“Of course, just be careful pouring it.” He climbs on to the counter to drink his juice as she now gladly justifies making a coffee; if Jack already knows she’s here she’s not in any real hurry to leave him as long as she has enough time to make it home to shower and change before Garcia calls. She loves any chance she gets to spend time with him, something she's gone too long without.

“Is your dad awake yet?” 

“No he sleeps in a little and then we go out for breakfast on Saturdays,” he swings his legs happily, stopping to think for a moment before he corrects himself. “Only when I don’t have football practice.” 

Of course, the kids soccer team that Hotch agreed to coach. Selfishly, she hates to think about the months she spent away, how everyone got on with their lives, as she would have wanted them to, but she doesn’t like remembering how much she missed out on, what was taken away from her. She knows that she can never get that time back but she still wishes, no matter how foolishly that she was around to watch his first game.

“That’s right, I hear you’re getting really good.”

“I am! I even scored a goal last time,” he announces proudly and she can’t help but match his smile, it’s infectious. “Uncle Dave was there, you should come too next time.” 

At least she’s allowed the opportunity now, she’s not going to waste it. “Of course, I’d love to watch you play, I bet you’re the best,” she says sincerely. 

He lights up at the praise, beaming at her before shaking his head a little. “Daddy says it’s more important just to have fun though.”

It’s so easy to imagine Hotch surrounded by a gaggle of small children, reminding them it’s just a game, as long as everyone is having fun they’re all winning. He’s so good with kids, it makes her envious, for someone who spends the majority of his time scaring small town law enforcement and criminals alike, she loves to watch him drop that completely around Jack. 

“Well your dad is very smart, but don’t tell him I said that,” she teases. 

Jack only nods solemnly as though he’s agreed to keep a heartfelt secret and a brief self-indulgent wish that all of her mornings could be like this flashes through her mind, Jack’s face suddenly earnest and happy “Will you watch cartoons with me?”

Her eyes flit in the direction of Hotch’s bedroom, still showing no sign of its occupant and she hesitates, she doesn’t want him to think that she’s out-staying her welcome, “Oh honey, I don’t know if I can stay.”

He shrugs and his face falls a little, disappointed but used to disappointment, “That’s okay, can you help me down?” 

Apparently those big brown eyes are still a weakness of hers, those that have previously swindled many an extra scoop of ice cream out of her, “You know what? I actually do have a little bit of time.”

She’s still yet to call that cab and who knows how long it will take, there’s no harm in waiting until she finishes her coffee, especially if it will make Jack happy. “Just the one though, I have to head home soon.”

It’s so easy to put the smile back on his face and his arms reach out to her eagerly as she gently lifts him off the counter and back on to the ground. He races happily to the couch and she follows slower with her cup of coffee.

That’s where Hotch finds them a while later, Emily having admittedly been caught up in Jack’s decision to curl up beside her on the couch and giggling in her ear, forgetting the time and relaxing completely. She realises she really doesn’t take time to just switch off, she’s never not spending the morning thinking about work or rushing to the office, the closest she gets is probably the morning after girls nights but that usually involves a hangover and regret. Having Hotch appear, still in a sleep t-shirt and shorts, clearly having just woken up himself, brings her back to reality with a jolt. 

She’s seen him almost die on this very floor, seen him in a hospital gown, shot at, bloody and bruised, this should not feel more intimate than that but it does. It abruptly occurs to her that she’s still wearing his clothes, figuring much earlier that if she could slip out without seeing him she could then wash them at home and return his stuff in the least embarrassing way as possible, maybe even post them.

Jack seemingly ignores the two adults staring at each other, “Dad, look Emily’s here!”

Hotch recovers first and smiles politely, almost restrained, “I see that, how did you sleep? 

“Good,” and she means it. It’s not like her to feel out of sorts around Hotch but the air feels charged somehow, as though they’re both ignoring a shift in behaviour. There’s another pause that threatens to descend in to a continued awkward silence when Jack saves that too.

”When are we getting breakfast?” By the sound of the question, his preferred answer would be as soon as possible.

Hotch looks to her, as though she has any say in the matter, “Would you like to join us?”

He sounds so formal all of a sudden, she looks down at her current outfit pointedly and laughs slightly, “Jack already mentioned you usually go out and I don’t think this or yesterday’s clothes would be a great look.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” His face immediately goes blank and he can’t have meant to say it out loud by the flush of colour that appears high on his cheekbones, he can’t possibly be flirting with her. Before she can respond with something like vague apologies and should really be getting homes, Jack takes matters in to his own hands, still firmly attached to her side.

“We should make breakfast for Emily!” He turns back to her, enthusiasm clear, “Daddy makes the best pancakes.” 

She looks up at Hotch, unsure whether his invitation extended to making her breakfast but he only nods, face still carefully blank, “If you’d like to stay?”

Jack looks at her pleadingly and she doesn’t even pretend to think about it before relenting, if he wants her to stay, of course she’ll stay. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to miss out on pancakes.”

That seems to spur Hotch in to some kind of reaction because he smiles warmly at her and something tight loosens in her chest, “I’ll need a lot of help from my important sous chef, right buddy?”

“That’s me! I’m really good at the mixing,” Jack tells her, waving his arms around really fast as though he’s already gotten a hold of the mixing bowl. 

She ruffles his hair and he giggles, “Oh sure, you’re the best at the messiest part.”

Hotch gestures to her empty mug on the table in question and offer, “Coffee or tea?” 

She hadn’t thought to look for any tea, simply making a beeline to his french press. She knows he didn’t have any last time because he apologised for only being able to offer coffee so it must be a recent purchase. It’s a nice, if slightly confusing, thought to believe it was bought especially for her. 

Tea, please,” she reaches forward to hand it to them and their fingers brush as Jack leaps to his feet to be the first one in to the kitchen. 

It hits her suddenly that someone else, at some point, is going to have this. That Hotch is going to meet someone, maybe not today or tomorrow but he deserves that much, to have someone to come home to, who loves him and they are going to have this moment; breakfast and Jack, and Hotch looking at them, soft and quietly happy.

Jack’s excited shout for her to join them in the kitchen distracts her enough to shake the idea from her head and follow but the thought lingers. Can’t think of why the image of a stranger spending the morning with Hotch and Jack leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Electing to do what she does best and push her feelings about it to one side, Emily pastes on a smile and offers to help cut some fruit to go with the pancakes, bananas are Jack’s favourite but Hotch can’t stand them.

Breakfast is, true to her prediction, a messy affair; a lot more flour makes it on to her and Jack while Hotch has enough foreknowledge to know when to stand well enough back, she’s definitely going to have to shower when she gets home. It’s worth it for the way Hotch laughs, carefree and happy as she’s ever seen him, and Jack insisting that she gets the very first pancake.

Pancakes eaten and Jack loudly reminding Hotch he had promised they could go to the park that afternoon, Emily takes that as her moment and reluctantly makes her excuses to leave, not before Jack extracts a promise that she’ll be at his next football game. An expression she doesn’t quite grasp flickers across Hotch’s face but she ignores it, if Jack wants her there, she’ll be there.

It almost slips her mind but just as he’s, needlessly, walking her to his front door, one hand gently placed on her lower back, she offers to wash and return his sweatshirt but he waves her off. The same hand that had been on her back sweeps up her spine and then is gone just as quickly.

The next time she opens her go bag she finds his sweatshirt.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took slightly longer than expected even though the majority of these chapters are written, i just can’t help but constantly edit tiny things over and over. i also realised this is as much a story about emily and hotch as it is about emily and jack, i just wanted to know more about their relationship especially after her rise from the dead and how fiercely she defends him from scratch in season twelve, considering they have next to no screen time together. the next chapter really should hopefully be up next week, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Prentiss? What’s wrong?”_
> 
>   
> _She manages to sit up slightly against the headboard but all that does is make her feel lightheaded and she doesn’t hear the question, the sound of his voice distorted as though she’s underwater but knows she still has to say something to him, the blood rushing in her ears like waves cresting until she makes out his voice again, more urgent this time._
> 
>   
> _“Emily, are you hurt?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw panic attack and minor descriptions of violence/nightmares

/

The third time she calls. 

She’s taken a few days off, her mother had a recent health scare that left her in the hospital and it seemed the best possible time to attempt reconciliation. That’s the clinical summary she would write up if she had to put it in to a report but it doesn’t take in to account the way her heart had dropped upon hearing the news and how she struggled to hear anything beyond _’Elizabeth Prentiss has been taken to hospital’._

They had just gotten back from a case in Colorado. She had a missed call from her mother and while that in itself was unusual she didn’t think that much of it, had planned on returning her call as soon as they were back in the city but she didn’t get a chance. The hospital ended up calling just as everyone arrived back in the bullpen and she dropped everything. 

It should have appeared like the scene out of a film; the former Ambassador Prentiss lying in a hospital bed greeting her only daughter with open arms, smiling as though all was forgiven but of course real life doesn’t work like that. The doctors thought it to be a mild stroke, quick to assure Emily that while her mother was physically stable they still needed to keep her in for a few days for observation.

Guilt may have been the contributing factor as to why she decided to take time off to stay with her mother, even at her obvious and vocal assertion that there was no need. Emily rarely likes to see a lot herself in her mother but she can’t deny the scene sounds familiar, she too prefers to heal alone. They didn’t have a great relationship before Emily _”left”_ and clearly that had only exacerbated a lot of those issues but she’s trying, only some days does that feel like enough. 

She takes the time to gather up anything her mother might need for a hospital stay from the townhouse and all but refuses to let her go home alone when she does end up being discharged. It’s been at least a decade since she’s stayed with her mother, if she thinks about it for too long she’ll only talk herself out of it and while her mother would be the last to admit it she does need someone with her. She may still have day staff but Emily’s her daughter and if she has to be there to remind her to rest and not attempt any work she will. 

Even though she’s supposed to be retired, Emily can’t imagine a day where her mother’s not trying to work on something. Truthfully, they don’t stay in touch often enough for her to know what that may be. That goes both ways; Emily waited over a month to let her mother know she was even back in the country.

She had called Hotch to ask for some personal time on her way to the townhouse, even though she was planning on working through the pile of reports she kept at home and she could consult by phone if needed. Her mother wouldn’t want her to hover and the last thing she wants is to be left at a loose end in her company. It’s been strained, though that’s nothing new and she’s only planning on staying overnight for the first day or two, if she can’t mend things with her mother now she might not get another chance. 

Elizabeth had never been thrilled at Emily’s job jump to the FBI or the BAU, couldn’t understand her wish to leave Interpol for what she saw as a step down to the bureau and the Doyle situation did nothing to alleviate those concerns but as she likes to say Emily’s as stubborn as her father, though from what Emily remembers of him it would be more correct to say she’s as stubborn as her mother. Ultimately, their downfall is that though she loves her mother, they have nothing in common. They are both such different people and, though they both have a wealth of practice, small talk at dinner only gets them so far.

Although when she wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, grateful to have the screaming trained out of her, all she wants to do is to go home and even she isn’t sure where that is anymore. At this rate she’d be glad of her own apartment but it’s the middle of the night and she can’t breathe, her whole body trembles and her legs feel like lead. Why didn’t she think to bring a glass of water up with her? Or remember to plug in the bedside lamp? She was just so glad to climb in to bed after another day of talking around her mother, it hadn’t occurred to her. 

The dreams were probably brought on by the amount of time she’s spent at the hospital in the past week so when she has a nightmare, Emily calls Hotch. She tells herself she wouldn’t have called if she had been sure of seeing him tomorrow but even she isn’t convinced that's true. It’s an impulse she can usually shake herself out of, not tonight. 

A dream hasn’t affected her this badly in weeks and there’s a stability to Hotch that always makes her feel safe, her best night’s sleep has been in is guest room but that doesn’t mean she should be relying on him to talk her down. It might be worth the humiliation just to hear his voice so that she doesn’t spend hours driving herself crazy convincing herself that her dream will come true, that everything she touches will eventually fall apart. 

“Hotchner.” His voice is gravelly from sleep and she’s tempted to hang up right away, can’t even remember making the decision to call him beyond the surging urgency that everything might be okay if she could just reach her phone and she can’t hang up even if she wanted to. Not that it would matter, she would only succeed in him calling her back immediately, that she knows. 

“Prentiss? What’s wrong?”

She manages to sit up slightly against the headboard but all that does is make her feel lightheaded and she doesn’t hear the question, the sound of his voice distorted as though she’s underwater but knows she still has to say something to him, the blood rushing in her ears like waves cresting until she makes out his voice again, more urgent this time.

“Emily, are you hurt?”

Of course that would be his first response; she doesn’t call him, ever, not unless it’s work and she’s woken him up in the middle of the night. She tries to open her eyes, maybe that will help her explain herself with sounding completely pathetic but all that does is make the room tilt on its axis. Briefly, she wonders if you’re supposed to put your head between your legs if you’re lightheaded, maybe this is her fully losing it. In the middle of the night at her mother’s place, with no one but Hotch to hear.

She almost laughs at the thought but fears it would border on hysterical and chokes it back, is she crying? Her cheeks feel wet and she would check but the fingers not wrapped too tightly around her phone are gripping the bed sheet trying to anchor herself in the still spinning room. 

“No Hotch, god I’m so sorry this was stupid I’m really sorry.”

“Emily, breathe. Tell me what happened.” His voice is gentle as though he’s not trying to spook her, she’s never going to be able to look him in the eye again, maybe this is the sign she’s been looking for to once again leave the country. 

“It’s so stupid, it was only a bad dream I don’t know why I called. I’m fine,” she stresses, half hoping he believes her enough to end the call because she doesn’t think she can. If he agrees to hang up now her she may come out of it with the last shred of her dignity still attached, Hotch of all people was never supposed to become essential, someone she could imagine trusting all her secrets with.

Her hand is clenched so tightly to the phone pressed against her ear it’s almost painful, unable to even get up to switch on a lamp, her limbs glued together. She feels disoriented, completely forgetting where she was for just a moment upon waking up. The darkness only makes it worse. Her own bedroom never gets this dark, or quiet. Even the air feels different. She’d woke up and it all felt so real that of course in an unfamiliar room her first thought would be to call Hotch, just to hear his voice and know it wasn’t real. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“God, no.” It’s taking everything for her not to get sucked back in, trying to focus instead on her breathing sharp and erratic. She knows all the techniques: counting back from ten, grounding herself in the moment, imaging herself in a safe place but none of that seems to be working, her chest still tight. At least his voice in her ear is somewhat helping, her hands at least have stopped shaking.

“Would you like me to stay on the phone?” It’s not needlessly sympathetic nor asked with an undercurrent of annoyance, he’s genuinely asking if it would help. She forgets sometimes that Hotch really does hold each of their worries on his own shoulders, he always feels so responsible it’s his best and worst quality. It’s a quiet kindness.

“You really don’t have to, this has been more than embarrassing enough.” She could’ve called anyone, JJ, Penelope, even Rossi might have been a better decision. Hotch used to be the last person she ever imagined calling in the middle of the night, now he’s the only one she wants to.

His breathing is soft and purposeful in her ear and she tries hard to mirror it, pictures the steady rise of his chest, up and down, if she could only take one deep breath and another, maybe she could think clearly. “It’s not weak to admit you’re struggling.” 

She thinks about her mother hopefully still sleeping just down the hall and how she didn’t even want to let Emily know that she had been hospitalised. Would have rather have borne it all in silence, recognises the determination to appear strong she absorbed as a child and Emily realises she doesn’t want to be that person, refusing to let anyone see any kind of weakness in her.

“Would you mind?” She hopes it doesn’t come across as timid as it sounds, that she’s not at the point of begging or going to fall apart completely if he says no but rather a completely reasonable request. 

“Of course not,” he doesn’t even hesitate and just like that he’s picks up a conversation as though they’re lying in bed together, discussing their respective days as though they’ve shared this moment hundreds of times before. “Jack and I went to the aquarium today.” 

Jack always is the easiest topic of conversation. If she shuts her eyes tight enough it might almost feel like she’s right in front of him, on his sofa, safe. She releases her grip on the bedsheet slowly, takes one deep breath in and out. Everything’s okay, no one is hurt, everyone is right where they should be.

“You didn’t have a case?” Jack’s on school break and she knows Hotch was scheduled to take some time off to spend with him, she just assumed it was more likely they would have been called away. She had offered to be on call if they needed her but he said that wasn’t necessary, only told her to focus on her mother. She still hoped he would have called her if they did.

As though he can hear her thoughts, he replies, “I would have let you know." And she does know that, really. “He was supposed to go as part of a school trip but wasn’t feeling well that day so he had to miss it.” 

She briefly remembers Hotch taking a rare personal day a few weeks ago, only because he had called her first which was new and something usually reserved for Dave but she could have just been the first one to pick up the phone. “I promised him that we could go together on my next day off, I didn’t even think he would remember.”

She digs her nails in to her thigh to keep her thoughts focused on the conversation, eyes firmly shut refusing to let her thoughts be drawn back to her dream, as though she can physically will it away and repeats it in her head. Hotch. Jack. Aquarium. Safe. Pictures Jack instead, Jack happy and smiling, “But of course he did.”

“He was up at 6am, already dressed and had made a schedule of where he wanted to go and in what order. I had to convince him that the animals weren’t awake that early and we both should lie back down for at least another hour.” 

The brief flint of joy catches her off guard, she almost laughs. Every time the image in her head starts to drift back in to darkness, she grips her thigh tighter. Pictures Hotch being woken up as Jack declares himself ready to go, room filled with light, safe. 

“I’ve never been to an aquarium.” Isn't that strange? Definitely not the one in D.C., she might have went to an international one when she was younger but she has very few memories of family trips that involve activities like that, more often than not her mother was on assignment and so she usually only saw her at dinner, and then was whisked away quickly after. She’s glad Jack won’t ever have that problem. 

“You should come with us next time.” He says it so easily she isn’t sure if he’s serious but she decides to let it go, the sentiment was appreciated whether he meant it or not. It’s one thing for her to spend time with Hotch and Jack in the safety of their own home, it’s something very different for just the three of them to go out together, breakfast after one of Jack’s football matches doesn't count. 

“What was his favourite bit?” Anything to keep him talking in her ear. Her limbs relax enough that she eases back against her pillows, she wants this conversation to go on forever but realistically knows she should let Hotch hang up and try to get some sleep.

“The shark tank, we spent a good hour in that section. You should expect to hear a lot of shark facts when you see him.”

 _When you see him_ , as though they now have an expectation of seeing each other, the more she thinks about it the more time she has been spending at Hotch’s place between dinners and spending time with Jack it seems inconceivable to her now that she spent months away from him, from everyone. “Brave boy, I’ll look forward to it and what was yours?”

Hotch sounds relaxed in a way that helps her heart rate finally start to slow, her mind now wandering to where he might be. She’s already seen him in pyjamas, and it’s late enough that he should be in bed. Maybe she’s inconvenienced him enough that he’s gone in to the kitchen to make a coffee. “The sea turtles.”

That startles a laugh out of her and imagines that was his intention all along. She does wish she would have been there, can’t remember her last day off that she spent not actively thinking about work. She’s been trying to be better at that. A day at the aquarium sounds peaceful but that might only be because she can picture Jack pulling Hotch along, excitement propelling him from exhibit to exhibit.

“He also wanted me to ask you if you’d come to his school play? It’s next month.” The shift in topic is there but not the tone, as though he was attempting to casually bring it up.

Emily sits back up, incredulous as though she didn’t quite hear him properly, surprise replacing fear, “And you thought now would be a good time to ask?”

He actually chuckles, as though he’s enjoying catching her off guard but says sincerely nonetheless, “I knew to pick my moment, he really wants you there, Emily.” 

She settles back against the headboard, confused but not displeased, “You don’t have to convince me, I’d really love to.” That’s not something she’s ever imagined being a part of, knows Hotch prefers to keep his work and Jack at a distance and she’s always come under the heading of work. “I mean, of course only if that’s okay with you or you think that it’s a good idea.” 

She’s babbling, she knows she is but she’s still trying to grasp the conversation. Hotch is so protective of Jack, for good reason obviously but the idea that he would want her there is overwhelming, in a good way.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he replies easily.

She’s not sure that’s entirely true, if Jack had really wanted something Hotch would move heaven and earth to make it happen but she lets it go, it really shouldn’t be that different than going to one of his football matches, but it feels different. 

“Then of course I’ll be there, you can text me the details.” There’s brief pause and she worries for a moment that she sounded dismissive, not a little teary that he trusts her enough to ask her or that Jack thought to invite her. 

“Or you can come over this week for dinner and Jack can fill you in himself.” It’s a tentative offer, as though he thinks there’s a possibility she’ll say no.

She pretends to consider it. “Are you cooking?” It’s teasing but also an indulgence, not that she’s making it in to more than what it is. It’s just dinner, she can allow herself that. 

“I can, If you’d like,” She forgets how sweet he can be, an uncertainty when he’s being teased forgetting that they don’t do that often, it’s good for him to be teased more. 

A warmth finally settles in her, chasing away the last chill of the nightmare. “I would like.” 

“How’s your mother?” His question immediately bringing her back to her surroundings. It’s gentle as though he doesn’t know if he should even broach the subject. 

“She’s doing well, complaining that I’m under her feet.” She tries not to sound irritated but isn’t sure how well she manages, “I should be back in the office on monday.” Sooner if she can’t stand to stay in this house any longer, she might even grab some paperwork from the office if she can make sure no one will be around. 

“You could always take more time.” For a second she’s unsure whether that’s a suggestion or an order. It’s difficult to shake off old habits sometimes.

“I know, but I really don’t need it.” 

“As long as you know.”

There’s a longer pause where she just listens to his breathing, deep in and out and her limbs unfurl enough for her to slip back under the blanket, safer. She’s aware that any minute he’s going to try and hang up, she’s already taken up too much of his time that should’ve been spent sleeping. 

“It was about you,” She says it so softly he must struggle to hear. She doesn’t have to tell him, he wouldn’t pry if she didn’t but maybe he deserves that much, to understand that it wasn’t on a whim she called him, she needed to call him. 

“I’m sorry?”

“The dream, it was about you, and Jack but mostly you.” She really doesn’t need to tell him, it would probably be better if she didn’t. It’s really not a good idea but she’s already passed her quota of terrible ideas so what’s another one and just like that it pours out of her.

“Usually it’s about the weeks leading up to seeing Doyle, you know the looking around every corner thinking I’ve passed him in the street.” She’s spent so much of her time looking over her shoulder and knowing that he could have been anywhere, around anyone. Hotch doesn’t interrupt, just let’s her talk. “Worse are the dreams when it feels like I’m dying, everything’s cold and dark and I can’t move.”

She had been keeping a fairly good lid on her subconscious since she had gotten back, whether that was the regular therapy or just the quiet relief of being emily prentiss again, to share in all that meant; the team, Sergio, her job, but the bodies in the lake case raised more than ugly memories. She couldn’t sleep for nearly three days. Her worst fear used to be dying in her sleep, definitely ridiculous considering the work they did and the amount of times she’s been shot at or worse on the job but the unending darkness was her biggest fear. 

“But this time-”

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath rushing through the words, “Someone was hurting you and jack and I was there and I could have- should have pulled the trigger but I couldn’t I don’t know why I couldn’t.” He doesn’t need the details, she won’t subject him to that, especially when he’s likely to have had worse.

It was dark, everything’s always so dark but she could hear their voices, the sickening impact of blows being dealt to Hotch, even while he was telling Jack he was going to be okay. Her brain is an awful place at times and she was there, perfectly placed to help and yet she froze, arms rested heavily by her sides like lead, the gun in her hand felt clumsy and useless. Jack was crying and Hotch bleeding and it was all her fault.

His voice is still gentle but firm now, reassuring but insistant, “Emily, Jack’s fine, he’s right here next to me. We’re both fine, I promise.” 

“He’s there?” She feels panic flood through her again as though she might have woken him up, he shouldn’t have to deal with her reckless impulses. He’s a child and has been exposed to more than enough horror to last more than one lifetime.

“Don’t worry he’s out like a light, you’re not the only one that has nightmares, Emily.” Maybe it’s because he keeps saying her name she wishes desperately for a minute that she could see him. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think- I hope I didn’t risk waking him.”

When she was aware with any clarity that she had called Hotch, Jack hadn’t even factored in to it, which sounds ridiculous now that she thinks about it but imagine if she had woken him up based on nothing but a bad dream when he had already faced horrors in the dark. 

They both deserve someone better, with way less baggage, someone stable and settled and with very little possibility of being killed on the job, someone to hold together a home that has gone through so much. Not that Hotch even thinks about her like that, even if he had considered it, once, she clearly came back in a lot more pieces than she had left. It’s not his job to put her back together again. 

“Don’t apologise, he’s fine and you’re fine,” he says resolutely.

“I feel like the farthest thing from fine,” she admits quietly. 

“Go back to sleep, Emily. We’ll still be here.” 

\

Despite managing to get back to sleep, the hours passed fitfully. In the cold white light of morning she desperately needs to get out of this house, it’s suffocating. She has naively thought that things might look better in the morning but a headache lingers and her stomach twists uncomfortably just thinking about how much of a fool she must have made of herself last night.

Getting ready quickly, she’s faced with her mother in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing gown and realises how early it still is. There’s a cup of what she hopes is tea in front her, there had been a stern warning to stay away from coffee from her doctor but she doesn’t appear to notice Emily entering the kitchen. 

Bracing herself for another stilted conversation, she attempts a passing greeting. “Good morning. I didn’t think you’d be awake yet, how did you sleep?”

Her mother startles for a moment as though she can’t imagine what she’s doing there but that smooths out, replaced with a curt,“Perfectly fine, thank you.” 

She hopes that’s true, if at least one of them had a good night’s sleep it betters their chance of having an actual conversation today, as well as of course knowing rest is the main treatment for her mother getting back on her feet. “Remember the doctor said you might feel drowsy during the day and prescribed something for insomnia.” 

“I said I slept fine.”

“Okay.” Emily sighs, she’s almost tempted to skip out now and just not come back. “Just reminding you it’s there if you need it.”

“I know, thank you,” she says stiffly but softer. Rising from her chair with the still half full cup, Emily senses a dismissal and slips on her jacket, “Oh, are you going already?” 

“No,” takes a deep breath and tries very hard not to grit her teeth. She’s trying to be more gracious, she’s not sure that her mother’s ever been forced to reckon with her own mortality before. It’s not an occupational reality like Emily’s.

“I was going out to grab a coffee and maybe breakfast, if I can get you something?”

“I don’t need you going out of your way when I could have something delivered,” she sounds almost frustrated.

“I know,” Emily replies gently. “But if I’m going out I don’t mind bringing you back baklava from that little bakery you like off George Street.”

Baklava used to be a staple in their house, one of the catering staff had tried to teach Emily to make it once when they still lived in Egypt and that had been a disaster but it’s the closest she gets to being reminded of a childhood.

Her mother’s mouth opens in what will probably be another refusal when she closes it unexpectedly and considers her carefully for almost a minute before offering a weak smile, “That would be lovely actually.”

She remembers being a lot younger, her father had just died when her mother had taken up the assignment in Egypt. They hadn’t been in the country long, a few months maybe but she has a vivid memory of her mother making sahlab in the kitchen; it wasn’t an arduous task the cupboards were always stocked with the little packets and she only had to mix it in to some warm milk but it sticks in Emily’s mind, made her feel warmed from the inside. She wasn’t feeling well and instead of handing her off to one of the many staff members, her mother had cancelled her meetings and stayed with her the whole day to watch old films together.

It’s the kind of thing she can picture Hotch doing for Jack. Her mother’s never been the most parental figure in Emily’s mind but it’s memories like that with her mother that she’d like to hold on to. It’s also been years since she’s had sahlab, maybe she’ll introduce it to them. There’s a lingering warmth to the idea that may be part nostalgia and part hope. She’s not naive enough to think that her and her mother ever get back to that kind of relationship, she was too young to really even argue with her then. 

“Okay then, I’ll be back soon.”

”And I’ll be here,” her mother replies ruefully and Emily genuinely laughs, part of a weight leaving her shoulders. 

It’s only when she’s in her car that she considers stopping by Hotch’s place. It’s impulsive and probably a terrible idea but he doesn’t live that far and she’s heading in that direction anyway to the bakery, she could drop off a coffee, as a thank you, that’s all. 

She hates the idea that the next time she’ll see him will be in the office and she desperately doesn’t want a tension to descend around them at work, they work with profilers and he won’t thank her for that. Surely it’s a better idea to talk to him first and then completely pretend like it never happened. 

Jack also deserves a hot chocolate, he had a rough night too. She can’t make sahlab but she can order hot chocolate and impulsively buy extra baklava as a token peace offering before she can second guess herself. Hopefully, it will do the same job of bringing a little comfort to their morning.

Hotch might not even be home, he’s still on leave and he and Jack might have plans but it’s the least she could after waking him up in the middle of the night. All the while telling herself that it'll be fine if they aren’t home, that this isn’t completely weird; they’re friends, friends just call by all the time, of course they’re friends. 

Again, she thinks what a truly awful idea this could be but still manages to balance the drinks while attempting a confident knock to his door. Hotch appears still in pyjamas, a lock of hair sticking out endearingly just as she remembered and she’s reminded it’s still quite early. “Emily.”

Before she can apologise and leave again just as fast there’s an echoed, louder _‘Emily?’_ from behind him as Jack rushes to the door.

“Hi, sorry for not calling first. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to bring you this and say thank you,” she hands him the coffee cup and he just stares at her.

He looks bewildered, like he can’t quite believe she’s standing in front of him, “You really didn’t have to.”

She shrugs as though it’s nothing because it is nothing, a friendly gesture slash apology, “I know but like I said I was in the neighbourhood.” 

“Emmy!” Jack appears for a split second before launching himself at her like he hasn’t seen her in weeks, he has, and it takes her impressive reflexes to stop from dropping the remaining cup and pastry bag as he wraps his arms tight around her waist. 

She passes Jack’s cup and the pastry bag to Hotch gratefully so that she can return the hug properly and that appears to wake him out of whatever daze he’s in, aware they’re still standing in his doorway, “Oh, of course come in.”

“Just for a minute, I really can’t stay.” No matter how much she wants to, she really shouldn’t take up any more of their morning and especially not now with her mother expecting her.

“Not even for a little while? I got a new shark poster from the aquarium, it’s bigger than me!” Jack’s small hand is still tightly held in hers and he pulls on it in excitement, most likely to drag her in the direction of his room.

She knows that as soon as she agrees she won’t be able to leave, spending time with Jack had the wonderful ability to make her forget anything that is happening outside of his world but she shouldn’t risk the necessary tentative peace she’s made with her mother. She also can’t bear disappointing him, even over something so little.

Hotch must sense her distress in trying to let him down gently as he comes to the rescue, explaining carefully, “Buddy, Emily’s mom isn’t feeling well so she has to go make sure she’s getting better.”

Emily kneels down so he can look at her properly, “And I would love nothing more to hear all about the sharks but I just can’t today, promise you’ll show me next time?”

“Promise!”

“I did bring you something though, but be careful it might still be a little hot.” 

She stretches back her hand and Hotch, aware exactly what she’s asking for without having to say a word, hands her the hot chocolate as Jack’s eyes light up but takes it from her carefully nonetheless. “As well as a surprise your dad’s holding.”

He gasps, ”What is it?”

They both look to Hotch who dutifully opens the paper bag for his waiting audience, “Baklava?” 

“It’s my mother’s favourite,” Emily explains and Hotch only acknowledges her with a tilt of the head as though that explains everything before she turns back to Jack. “You’ll like it, I promise.” He nods seriously as though he trusts her judgement completely.

"And you're still coming to dinner this week, right?" Jack asks suddenly. Emily looks back to Hotch in surprise, not expecting him to have told Jack yet considering they only made the plans not a few hours ago and without any real date in mind but he just shrugs in response and Jack tugs at her arm for an answer.

“Absolutely.”

“I made Aunt Jess a get well soon card when she was feeling sick, do you think your mom would like one too?” 

It catches her off guard, the Hotchner men have a knack for doing that to her and it’s not her fault if she’s still feeling a little emotional, she’s struck often enough how lucky she is to have Jack in her life. ”Oh honey, I think she’d love one.” 

It would be a little difficult to explain to her mother why Agent Hotchner’s son is making her a get well soon card but there’s no way she’s going to turn down such a thoughtful idea, she’ll figure it out. All she can manage to convey how much that means to her is through an extra tight hug that he giggles his way through.

"Jack, why don't you grab a plate to put these on so we can try them?" Hotch hands him the pastry bag and with a final wave to Emily he's out of sight. 

She takes a deep breath and nods before getting to her feet, almost in resignation as Hotch continues to stare at her. She feels more exposed than ever. He stops her just as she turns to head for the door with a hand on her elbow and she almost flinches, not entirely sure why, perhaps the lack of sleep, “You sure you’re alright?”

He looks so concerned her fingers ache to smooth out the worried lines on his face but instead she curls her hands purposely behind her back and smiles resolutely if a little too brightly, “No more late night calls, promise.”

“Emily, you know you can call anytime, right?”

She manages to nod a little unconvincingly and he only signs as though that’s not the response he wanted and shakes his head slightly. She feels wrong footed, as though this is a completely different conversation than the one she thinks they’re having. It’s sweet of him to say but he can’t actually want her to call him every time she has a bad dream, that's not his job. It's hard to ignore the uneasiness that surrounds them now, she's not naive to think she didn't cause it.

“I mean it. Day or night, you don’t need a reason.”

Maybe this is both of their boundaries being pushed in the same direction. She isn’t sure how to tell him that it can go both ways, he can trust her too, with anything. She can’t imagine him needing to call someone in the middle of the night but if he ever did, she’d like to be that person. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he echos, softer. “See you Monday?”

He opens the door for her and just before she leaves, her face darts up to meet his as she dares to brush her lips across his cheek. Just once, but with purpose and then she’s gone.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i don’t know how it’s not occurring to them but they’re dating, also if criminal minds won’t give me canon background on emily’s family i will simply create it myself) this took longer than i expected but i’m overwhelmed by the comments and love. this has been a hell year (obviously) but writing this is a bright spot thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The conversation finally seems to register in her head, she's rarely this slow it must be the end of the day catching up to her because she suddenly stops him just as he’s about to walk away._  
> 
> 
> _“Wait- who knows how long that meeting will take, why don’t you let me take Jack? I’m practically finished up here and I can meet Jessica at your place quicker than her coming all the way out here.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally deleted a great deal of this chapter so the final result ended up being very different than I had planned but I still hope that it lives up to expectations and that the next chapter won't take as long, all of your comments have been unbearably lovely so this is for all of you, happy (just slightly late) valentine’s day!

\

The fourth time, it’s her idea. 

Hotch catches her at the coffee machine, “You’re still here.” It’s been a quiet week, a gentle reprieve. Not that there haven’t been any cases, they seem to never reach an end of people's capacity for evil but none that has required their physical presence. Emily’s noticed that he's been making the most of leaving at a reasonable hour so it surprises her that he’s still around.

“So are you. Did you want a cup?” 

“No." A beat of time, his brow furrows as though he knows he's being impolite. “Thank you.” He looks harried and almost worried but he hasn’t mentioned a case, it’s no great leap to assume it might be personal, that, and he’s deliberately trying to not catch her eye. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He finally looks at her, perhaps not expecting her to ask so directly or that he hasn't made up his mind on whether or not he wants to tell her. Some habits are harder to break than others and Hotch has had longer than most to keep his personal life to himself. Emily continues to hold his gaze and he sighs, “Jessica has an emergency with her father and I have a departmental meeting in an hour.”

His voice softens as he says it but there’s frustration too. Part of her is more than a little surprised that he told her and didn’t simply tell her not to worry but she frowns sympathetically, having a fair idea of how strained the relationship is between Hotch and Jack’s grandfather. “Is everything okay?” 

“I think so, she’s going to drop Jack off here, would you mind keeping an eye on him?” There's a hesitation as though he’s asking too much, he couldn’t.

“Of course not, we can hang out in your office until you’re finished.” She’s aware of how that could sound like she’s waiting to go home with him but she shakes the thought from her head. It would be worth it to have time with Jack, wherever the location.

Hotch smiles briefly and squeezes her arm in thanks, he’s been doing that more often, touching her. Just fleeting unthinking touches to her arm or back, from anyone else not worth thinking about really but he so rarely touches anyone. The conversation seems to finally register in her head, she's rarely this slow it must be the end of the day catching up to her because she suddenly stops him just as he’s about to walk away. 

“Wait- who knows how long that meeting will take, why don’t you let me take Jack? I’m practically finished up here and I can meet Jessica at your place quicker than her coming all the way out here.”

For a moment she feels like she’s overstepping, only a few months ago she wouldn’t have offered at all but then he may not have asked for her help then. It’s also just a more sensible decision, there’s no reason for Jessica to make the trip to Quantico and then head to her father’s when Emily could save her a journey. 

He looks confused as though her offer has thrown him, not unwilling but stubborn. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

That she does roll her eyes at, predictably. “Hotch it’s fine, I’d love to really.” 

She can practically see him thinking it over, there’s no reason he should refuse her beyond a well-established sense that he shouldn’t need any help. “If you’re sure.” 

“Yes,” she replies emphatically. “I’ll leave now and you can let her know I’m on my way.”

Hotch nods and she grins, a little relieved that he didn't completely turn the idea down. “Emily? Thank you.”

Now faced with her freshly filled cup of coffee still in hand, she glances around the bullpen until she spots Morgan perched on Reid’s desk, most likely having gotten distracted on his way down to the coffee machine and no doubt getting in the way of any potential work. 

There comes a time in the evening where he tends to gravitate back to his old desk, right in the middle of things. The office was a well-deserved promotion and she sometimes envies the sense of quiet it must bring but she also knows he prefers the open layout of the bullpen. 

“Hey, you don't happen to want a coffee, do you? I just made a cup but I have to head out.” Reid won't drink coffee after a certain hour but Morgan will never turn down a cup of coffee, even with one already in hand. 

Morgan turns to face her, an unmistakable glint in his eye that usually spells trouble, “Got a hot date?”

She snorts, “Like I’d tell you it I did.” 

"Oh c’mon Princess, no gory details you’d like to share?"

It’s the teasing she’s missed. She used to consider Morgan one of her best friends and he had easily taken her death the hardest, felt the most responsible. It's taken a lot of reaching out on her part between the after-work sparring sessions and asking him to look at houses with her; an olive branch that was supposed to be a clear declaration of _I’m staying_ , beyond the fact that he actually owns properties and had seemed like the most useful choice. Finally, she thinks, they're moving forward. That doesn't mean she still isn't a tiny bit relieved every time he jumps to teasing as though the last year never happened, as though it may be possible to claw back that closeness they shared.

“As much as I would love nothing more to regale you with exploits that would make Reid blush, oh so prettily, I really am in a hurry.”

Reid looks adorably outraged, as expected. They’ve reached the point where he’s forgiven her enough that conversations like these don’t feel as though they’re all ignoring the previous simmering tension, and for that, she’s eternally grafted. He’s always harder to read than Morgan and keeps things closer to his chest but as long as he doesn’t hate her, she’s considering that a miracle. He may not still trust her like he used to but there was a brief moment when she didn’t believe any kind of forgiveness would be possible.

”Oh please, I used to share a desk and phone with Morgan there is nothing that can make me blush!”

It’s a well familiar story that Spencer likes to hold over him of their early days working together when Derek used to hand out their shared work number to women they met on the job. She doesn’t think Reid’s ever recovered from having to listen to some of the messages they received. Not to mention the steady stream of very persistent women from different departments in the bureau _casually_ dropping by.

Derek cuts in, smile now almost salacious, they both like to play the flirt, "You know what? I don't need to know, I’ll let my imagination do the work." 

Emily sighs dramatically, “Okay, coffee offer revoked.” She makes to turn away when he reaches for her, laughing, 

“Hold up. Never said I didn’t want the coffee, just wanted to know who’s pulling you away?” 

"She’s going to Hotch’s." 

Emily and Morgan both turn to stare at Reid incredulously, they work with profilers, not psychics, “Did you know that studies have shown the human ear can hear sound from over twenty-six thousand feet away? There’s a language conducted solely in whistles that—”

Morgan cuts him off before he can gain momentum and makes a face, “Hotch? On second thought, please keep the details. I’ll pay you not to tell me.”

She knows he doesn’t actually believe she’s seeing Hotch but she still waves off his response with a dismissive hand, “Hotch has a meeting, Jessica has an emergency, Jack and I are going to hang out." She wouldn't call it babysitting, she is genuinely excited about getting to spend some time with him. They see a lot of each other and although she loves seeing Hotch and Jack together, rarely is it just the two of them. 

Morgan looks on disapprovingly, teasingly. "Yeah yeah, I want you home by ten young lady." 

She throws a paper clip at him but she does leave the coffee.

/

It feels distinctly strange to be standing outside of Hotch’s place knowing that he’s not on the other side of the door. She briefly considered bringing a change of clothes up with her; a part of her would like to change in to something more comfortable after a long day but she still feels that would be too presumptuous and leaves her go-bag in her car. Spending so much time with Hotch, and Jack has left her feeling out of her dept, a feeling she isn’t used to. 

There are times Hotch looks at her and in any instance she would be convinced that it’s intimate, that he’s really _seeing_ her, but considering her quite atrocious romantic track record, it’s almost certainly her reading too much in to things. Emily apprehensively knocks on the door only to have it opened immediately by a flustered Jessica already pulling on her coat. 

“Hi, thank you so much, Jack’s in his room we didn’t get a chance to start dinner yet and I’m sorry to just run but I really appreciate it.” She looks back in the direction of Jack’s room regretfully. Emily gets it, Jack’s the last piece of her sister she has left and without Jessica, she’s not sure what Hotch would have done.

Emily gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry I’m happy to stay, I hope everything’s alright.” Hotch had sounded vague concerning what an emergency with her father could mean but with Emily’s recent time spent with her own mother, she sympathises. 

Jessica smiles in return, this time gratefully, “Me too, thank you again.”

“Go, we’ll be fine.”

She makes it to the doorway before abruptly stopping and takes a moment to search through her bag before turning back to face Emily. "Oh, I almost forgot— here’s a spare key, just in case!"

Emily stares at the single unassuming key pressed in to her hand and just like that Jessica’s gone. She forcefully pushes down any rush of emotion rising from being trusted with such a thing and slips it in to her coat pocket, deciding to not think about it at all before her imagination runs away from her. 

Her mind instead involuntary reminds her that the last time she had been in Hotch’s flat without him, he’d been bleeding out in a hospital unbeknownst to anyone.

She suddenly feels a little daunted by the prospect of having Jack all to herself, it’s ridiculous she knows, but one of her sticking points of having children had been the amount of time they would be left alone together when everyone leaves and it’s just you and them with no one’s lead for her to follow. 

It made perfect sense to her that she would be a terrible mother but it feels foolish to be assigning the same kind of worry about screwing up now, especially with Jack; she's already done that once and will most likely continue to. Jack's forgiven her already, there's nothing to suggest he won't do so again if it comes to that, not that she hopes it ever does.

“Emmy! Aunt Jess said you were coming.”

Jack rounds the corner to see her held in place in the middle of the entryway but he beams up at her. Seeing Jack is the quickest way to pull her out of less than pleasant memories or considerations, especially when he quickly reaches for a hug. It’s effortless to wrap her arms around him, she swears he’s a little bigger every time.

“Hey Jack-Jack, your dad is going to be a little late so how about me and you make a start on dinner, just the two of us?” 

” Yeah!” He punches his fist in the air, she hopes he keeps that enthusiasm when he comes face to face with her lack of cooking expertise. “But first can I finish my Lego? I’ll be super quick. Promise!”

“Of course, do you want any help?”

“It’s okay, I’m very almost done.”

” Okay then, I’ll check out your dads’ cupboards for dinner ideas.” Jack nods and disappears just as quickly as he had appeared. Emily takes a minute to breathe, slip off her shoes and hang her coat in the closet before braving the kitchen.

The suggestion of Hotch’s cupboards throw her, she really does have zero culinary skills. Jack looks on expectantly, finally finished with his Lego creation, and they eventually settle on grilled cheese sandwiches. Even she can be trusted with bread and cheese. She hates not being good at things and usually that would have prompted her to throw herself in to learning to cook, it just always seemed like too much effort just for one person.

“Do you think Dad would let me get a pet?” 

It takes her a minute to catch up with the conversation; Jack’s especially excited for a sleepover next weekend because one of his friends has just gotten a dog, a beagle named Ben, and apparently they’re going to get to take him to the park.

There are few things Hotch would refuse his son if they’re in his power not to but a pet could potentially be one of them. She can’t imagine where he would find the time to care for Jack and a pet but Hotch always does surprise her. “I think that’s something you’d have to ask your dad, there would be a lot of things to think about.” 

“Like what?”

“Well, it can be a lot of work looking after a pet, some animals would prefer to have a garden or would need a walk at least once a day.” 

Jack looks unconvinced before brightening, “Maybe I could look after Sergio some time to show dad that I’d do a really good job.” 

Emily laughs, Sergio doesn’t like many people and she’s convinced he likes Garcia more than her but she has a suspicion he’d be an angel for Jack. “I’m sure you would but maybe you could start with something smaller than a cat, maybe a fish.”

“Or a turtle! Sara has a tortoise called Toby, his favourite food is strawberries.”

She can almost picture Jack having Tortoise, definitely much less energy than a dog which she knows Hotch would appreciate. “Sure, but again you should ask your dad what he thinks.” 

Jack swings his legs happily, “Can I come visit Sergio soon?”

“Of course,” Emily replies easily. “If your dad says it’s okay you could probably have a sleepover if you’d like.”

He gasps eagerly, “Me, you, dad, and Sergio?”

She hadn’t thought to include Hotch, isn’t sure why the idea of him staying at her place feels so much more intimidating than the time she spends at his. There are boxes she’s still not unpacked and although he wouldn’t care, he’d notice. Jack’s easier to simply have in her space without the exposure Hotch would bring, profiler or not.

“Maybe,” she replies unconvinced. It’s not that she thinks it’s unlikely, she doesn’t want Hotch to agree only because Jack asks, and not that he would agree to anything that made her uncomfortable. She just feels almost self-conscious inviting him over to a place she doesn’t feel at home, doesn’t want him to see how disconnected she still is. “Are you finished?

Jack brings his cup and plate over to the sink and Emily has just finished bargaining with him to help her wash up in exchange for dessert when he rushes towards the freezer excitedly, “Guess what? Dad bought mint chocolate ice cream!”

“Your dad hates mint chocolate.” It’s a conversation that has come up surprisingly often.

He almost bounces up and down, explaining, “But it’s your favourite so that makes it my favourite!” 

“Okay so dinner?” She asks, pretending to check off an imaginary checklist. 

“Check!”

“Dishes?”

“Check!”

“Homework?”

“Double check!”

Emily pauses, looking around in exaggerated disbelief as she pulls the ice cream out of the freezer while Jack giggles. “Two checks?”

“Yep,” he chirps. “Aunt Jess and I did my spellings and I practised my lines for the school play, you’re still coming right?”

It breaks her heart sometimes that she knows a yes can never be a complete guarantee. It makes her want to make sure he’ll never have to wonder if there’s going to be someone in the audience for him. Of course, she knows love’s not a finite source but she wants him to overflow with it. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She can only hope the stars align and every serial killer just takes a day off. “Wow look at you, okay it’s still quite early, what would you like to do?”

He considers for a minute, “Can we watch a movie?” 

“Of course, I have a great idea where does your dad keep all the spare sheets and pillows?” 

“In there, why?” Pointing to a small door in the hallway.

“Because Jack-Jack, we are making a movie fort, come on.”

It’s only when they’re stretched out in front of the TV on top of a mountain of pillows with bowls of ice cream in hand that Jack asks, seemingly unprompted, “Did Sergio miss you when you were away?” 

They don’t talk about the months that she was gone, not only gone but presumed dead. It’s entirely selfish but she refuses to think about how he must have felt, how she almost certainly broke his heart at the prospect of losing another person. All it does is make her want to run far, far away, incapable of hurting anyone else ever again but that’s not what Jack deserves so she chooses an easier answer, on both of them. 

Placing her bowl aside, she keeps her tone light, “Well, he might have but Penelope took really good care of him, he probably thought he was on holiday.” 

Jack nods, almost absentmindedly before declaring, “I missed you.” 

Oh, he’s never said it directly to her but she didn’t need him to, of course, she already knew but the sudden declaration hurts more than she thought it possibly could. Unaware of the tears threatening to fall or the lump in her throat, Jack sets his bowl up on the coffee table and curls up close to her, warmth radiating off him, and ignores her once again in favour of the film ready to start. 

“I missed you too.”

\

It’s later than expected when Hotch eventually makes it home, having texted Emily close to an hour ago that he was just finishing up but, as expected, got waylaid just as he’d stepped out of his office. It’s a hazard of attempting to leave at a reasonable time, at some point the week has to catch up to him.

The house is quieter, too, than he would have expected. He’d been fairly sure that Jack would still be awake, not wanting to miss even a moment with Emily. The TV is playing low in the living room and the first thing that catches his eye is the tent-like structure propped up between the two couches and leveled on the coffee table before he notices the plates and pan drying on his dish rack.

He knows Jessica apologised about not starting dinner yet so Emily must have cooked. Knowing her propensity to stay away from the kitchen and how easily she could have called for pizza or something makes him smile, also sorry to have missed it. 

Placing his briefcase quietly on the kitchen table, he notes the extra table setting they had set for him, just in case he made it home in time. Jack’s a pretty well-adjusted kid, all things considered, but Hotch dreads the day that he might miss one dinner too many. 

No voices are coming from the tent but that seems to be the most logical place to look; it’s been a long day and he just wants to see his son. He takes off his suit jacket before crouching down and rapping his knuckles softly on the coffee table that’s been pushed out of the way so they can see the tv from the floor, “Knock Knock, anyone home?”

Hotch pops his head inside just as Jack’s eyes fly open to see them both lying on a makeshift floor of pillows with Emily stretched out and Jack curled in to her side with one arm clutching at her waist. He shoots up in excitement, jostling Emily and the precarious ceiling.

“Shush Daddy, Em’ly’s sleeping.” Jack’s voice a careful, but loud, whisper as though he has also just woken up but he still reaches eagerly for him. 

Emily stirs but keeps her eyes closed for a moment, voice an echoing whisper, “No it’s okay I’m awake, I’m definitely awake.”

“We made a fort,” Jack declares, already back at full volume with his arms around Hotch’s neck.

“I see that, am I allowed in too?”

Jack looks to Emily as she opens her eyes and slowly props her head upon her hand pretending to consider his request, “Well I don’t know, what do you think Jack?” 

He looks back at his father before nodding decisively, “I think so, it’s cozy.”

“Thank you.” Jack returns to his previous place beside Emily and with the ceiling so low, the only comfortable position is lying down with Jack in the middle but it is surprisingly soft. He’s not sure what he expected coming home but it certainly wasn’t this.

“We also had ice cream, mint chocolate chip. In the fort!”

Hotch mock-sighs, shaking his head and directing his response to Emily, “You’re corrupting my son.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who bought it,” she shoots back playfully.

It was an impulse buy. He was grocery shopping and somehow it made its way in to his basket, he didn’t even have Jack with him to be able to place away some of the blame, it just happened. The same way boxes of her tea have made their way in to his cupboards. Hotch shrugs with little justification, “It’s your favourite.” 

“Can we sleep in here tonight?” Jack asks, already turned toward him, a pleading look in his eyes.

It’s not a school night and Jack looks so excited he can’t see the harm for just one night. He’s not great at denying his son something so simple, especially considering the amount of time he’s away he tries to make up for it in other ways. 

“Remember we have soccer practice in the morning.” Hotch reminds him, not saying no but they are going to have to be up quite early and leaves it up to Jack if he wants to reconsider. He’s sure that Jack wouldn’t have forgotten without the excitement of an evening with Emily.

“Please? I promise to get ready _super_ fast in the morning.”

“Why don’t you put on your pyjamas, brush your teeth and we’ll see?”

“Okay!” He scrambles quickly out of the tent lest his dad changes his mind, giggling as he tries not to trip over Hotch’s feet and leaving the two of them alone.

“I see you cooked and my kitchen didn’t burn down, impressive.” He feels enveloped in warmth, the relief in finally being home is part of it. To be lying in a make-shift tent that Emily had made the effort to construct with his son is another. Entirely content after such an exhausting day, he’s tempted to close his eyes. 

She breathes out a laugh, “It was grilled cheese and honestly Jack did most of the work, have you eaten?”

“I grabbed something on my way home.” It feels like something they think to do now, check up on each other. It seems like every weekend, Jack is itching to call her to spend time together, he now must see her more than anyone else.

The only light coming from the warm glow of the living room lamp casts the room in almost a dreamlike quality. “Jack’s right, this is cozy.”

“We may or may not have used all of your pillows for the floor,” she admits, soft but teasing. It’s something he can rely upon that she’s always ready to make a joke or comment, that defense mechanism out in full force. 

She also doesn’t make a show of insisting that it’s late and that she should go, even though he knows her car is downstairs. He doesn’t mention it either because he wants her to stay and he knows that if she had wanted to leave, she wouldn’t waste a moment before letting him know. He may let her make the majority of the decisions outside of work but he trusts her enough to not take that for granted. 

Jack rushes back with a book and stuffed elephant in hand, breaking the quiet lull, and at least that signals it’s her time to go.

He looks down at them both still together on the floor before putting two and two together, “Does this mean Emily gets to have a sleepover too?”

It’s not a good idea, he knows it’s not a good idea, and yet he doesn’t shut it down, doesn’t apologise on her behalf that he knows she would respect. He leaves the decision up to her, not entirely sure what answer he’s hoping for. “That’s up to Emily.”

Jack turns to her, ready to use those big persuasive eyes if necessary. They have a remarkable success rate, he should know. “Pretty please? You have to stay, it's _our_ fort.” 

Hotch can almost see the moment she relents because she looks to him as though to gauge his reaction, as though Hotch has ever been very good any denying both of them anything. “Well it would be a shame to let this very well-crafted fort go to waste,” she pauses. “If your dad is willing to share his clothes again?”

It’s an indulgence having her in his home, wearing his clothes. It’s not that he’s not attracted to her, he’s only human after all and Emily is terribly attractive but he’s her friend. He can at least say that with certainty after the past few months and the last thing she could possibly want is a divorced—single father—workaholic who just so happens to be her boss. Emily is vibrant and passionate and deserves all the happiness in the world and if he and, okay mostly, Jack can be even a little part of that he’ll be content. 

That doesn’t mean he should be letting her worm her way so far in to either of their hearts but the opportunity for her to be wearing his clothes and staying for breakfast is all too familiar, he’s powerless. The risk is should he be suggesting she spend more time away from them, making friends that don’t revolve around death? She got a second chance at being Emily Prentiss and he'd hate to think she's not taking that opportunity because of some misplaced sense of guilt. Knowing Emily, however, she might take that the wrong way as though he doesn’t want her around. He does all the time, that’s the problem. 

Jack fixes him with a serious look, “Dad, you always say it’s important to share.”

He notices Emily bite her lip to stifle a laugh and he relaxes, for now, mirroring Jack’s gravity of the situation in response, “That’s absolutely true.” 

With Jack now waiting expectantly, Hotch leaves briefly to fetch a change of clothes for Emily and himself before handing them over. He leaves again to make quick work of getting ready for bed, nervous energy propelling him, and he assumes Emily must do the same because they both appear back in the living room at the same time. Awkwardly hovering outside of the tent together, faced with the reality of sleeping in the same room, the same space. Before Jack’s loudly asks what they’re waiting for?

” Ladies first,” he offers. She grumbles a little when he tries not to laugh, there’s really no graceful way to get in and out. He's also trying not to look preoccupied with her legs, it's warm in the little tent so he offered her sleep shorts without thinking about being faced with the bare expanse of skin they display.

Deliberating fixing his attention on to Jack, Hotch insists he read at least one book to them to keep working on his reading skills but does then agree to his demand that he should then be allowed a Dad story and an Emily story. 

Before Emily's even finished, Jack’s out like a light, yet neither suggests moving to an actual bed. They should, but they don’t. Hotch remembers her calling in the middle of the night, how quickly he would have rushed over there if she had wanted him to, heartbroken that he couldn’t. It's not the first time he's been woken up by a phone call in the middle of the night, it wasn't even the first time that a member of their team had been on the other end. Spencer used to call at least once a week after Gideon left. 

He stares up at the tent ceiling, first to break the quiet, “I imagine this is how kids feel at their first sleepover.” It’s more as an invitation than any real need to say it, he just likes the opportunity to hear her speak about anything other than work.

She shifts slowly on to her side so that she can look at him directly, one hand tucked under her head. “You've never had a sleepover?”

“No, my father didn’t like Sean and I being in other people's homes, didn’t want us hanging around with other kids.” He didn’t like them doing a lot of things, namely anything he couldn’t control.

“That sounds lonely.”

Hotch shrugs, “Sean and I had each other.” Or at least they did before he ran off to the college the first chance he got, leaving Sean alone in that house.

He doesn’t elaborate any further, unsure what made him tell her any of that but she doesn’t pry, “We can do each other’s hair and gossip if you feel like you’re not getting the full experience?”

She smiles widely when that makes him chuckle, “Maybe next time.” 

Silence descends between them once again before Emily’s the one to break it. “You know I didn’t get a chance to say, with everything,” she gestures vaguely with a determined lightness but low to account for Jack breathing softly between them. “But I actually quite liked the beard.” 

It feels a little surreal actually to be lying on his living room floor with her and his son sleeping between them.

“Is this your attempt at the gossip portion of a sleepover?”

Jack’s twisted himself in to a little ball further down the makeshift bed as he slept which places them much closer together, he can see the crinkle of her eyes. “Well if you’re not going to let me braid your hair,” she trails off before reaching over and gently pressing her fingertips to his jaw before pulling back just as quickly,

He rubs at the spot self consciously where her touch had been at what’s already the beginning of a five o’clock shadow, he and Jack had both woken up late and he didn’t have a chance to shave this morning. Frowning, not at her but the feeling more exposed due to his current state of undress. “Jack hated it.” 

“It was a good look for you.” 

Now he knows she’s teasing, “It did its job.”

“Which was?”

“It didn’t look like me.” It was hard to look in the mirror, plus being out in the desert, he didn’t need to hide from anybody but himself. 

She sighs a little, turning on her back to face up to the ceiling. It’s so difficult sometimes to tell what she’s thinking when he’s said the wrong thing. “Just tell me you didn’t send yourself away because of me.” 

The last thing he would want her to feel is guilty but he also doesn’t think he’s ever lied to her, “Not exactly,” he hedges. It’s true at least, his first thought when she left might have been to follow suit but he also knew the team couldn’t handle two departures. His primary concern was to be there for the team. 

“Hotch.”

“We weren’t the same after you left, everything was different and it was, difficult, to watch everyone grieving knowing I was partly responsible.” 

She tries to catch his eye, almost forceful, “I don’t blame you, I couldn’t.” 

Hotch sighs and directs his gaze back to the ceiling, this was not the route he thought this conversation would take but too many of their conversations seem to be going unsaid. “It was ultimately my decision. I didn’t go looking for the opportunity to leave, even temporarily, but I didn’t pass it up when it did come.”

She hums gently, “Did it help?”

“No, but then again I’m not sure I expected it to.” Emily was sent away it was only fair that he followed suit. 

He’s about to suggest that they don’t have to actually spend the night on the floor, especially when Jack has already fallen asleep, when he realises she’s also drifted off, curled in on herself but facing him. He knows that he doesn’t have to stay, would definitely sleep better in his own bed but something stops him and he stays.

/

Hotch awakes with a groan at the sound of his alarm to find himself alone— he doesn’t have far to look when just outside, Emily and Jack are dozing on the sofa. There’s a half-empty coffee cup on the table that indicates how long they’ve been awake before being pulled back in to sleep. It must have been early, he’s surprised he didn’t notice them leave but touched they took the care not wake him.

Emily’s the first to notice his arrival, keeping her voice down, “Good morning, how was the fort?” 

“We are way too old to be sleeping on the floor.”

Emily laughs loudly at that, and Jack perks up at her side. He likes Emily in the mornings, sleepy-eyed and domestic it’s as though he catches her before she remembers there’s a world outside this apartment, that there’s anything to be afraid of. The now-familiar picture of her curled up on his sofa with Jack in the morning, it looks like she belongs there.

Her eyes drift toward the kitchen clock, “What time does soccer practice start?”

Jack leaps to his feet as though he’s just remembered and races from the living room with enough energy that it’s hard to believe he was the same kid asleep on the couch only minutes before, “I’m gonna’ be ready first!”

“Well, Jack and I have to be there early to help set up but you could meet us later for breakfast if you need to go home first?”

She hesitates and he realises he didn’t even ask if she’d wanted to or could come, just assumed she would be there. Breakfast has become something of a habit. In his mind it seemed like a natural progression, they would have soccer practice and Emily would go home to change before joining them after. This is what he means by getting under his skin, he’s making plans and slotting her in to them, easy as breathing. 

“I have a change of clothes in the car, as long as I can use your shower I’ll be ready to go.” She’s blushing and he can’t fathom why until it occurs to him; she didn’t need to borrow his clothes, she had wanted to. 

As Emily showers and Jack is busy searching for his one missing shoe, Hotch makes Emily a thermos of tea and packs water bottles and orange segments for the midway bread. The only thing the football pitch offers is water and quite frankly terrible instant coffee but he knows Emily will appreciate a warm drink. 

She’s been to one of Jack’s games but not practice; other parents linger to chat to each other or appear to be working on their phones, often not the least bit focused on their own kids but she had been entirely absorbed in the game. Emily suddenly appears in the kitchen, stealing a piece of orange and popping it in to her mouth, hair still damp from the shower. 

”Need any help?”

”No, we should be just about ready to leave.” He reaches behind her to grab the thermos and she doesn’t move away so for a fleeting moment they’re held together in the same space before he steps back, “This is for you.” 

Her eyes light up as she takes a sip, “Oh, you angel. Can I employ you as my personal tea-maker? It never tastes as good when I make it.”

Hotch smiles, hand unthinkingly placed on her waist that he uses to propel them out of the kitchen. He keeps finding himself touching her, as though his hands gravitate to her without a thought. ”There could be worse jobs, I would hate to inflict an un-caffeinated Emily Prentiss on the world.”

Before she can have a chance to reply, Hotch is already at the door, holding open her coat; half-pretending it’s out of chivalry and not an opportunity to keep touching her. He’s calling to let Jack know they’re leaving when she turns to him, hand pulling something out of her pockets, “Oh this belongs to you.” He recognises one of the spare keys he gave to Jessica in her hand, he can only assume that’s who she got it from. 

He shakes his head, “You should keep it, for emergencies.”

She looks down at the key and nods almost shyly before slipping it back in to her pocket, “You know you don’t have to feel obligated to come.” He's not sure what makes him say it beyond the fact that he wants to make sure they haven’t pushed too much, that she wants to be there.

“What, and miss out on seeing Coach Hotch in action again? No way, as long as you keep letting me tag along.” Teasing puts them back on more stable ground.

“You’re always welcome Emily. I —I mean we— would like you there, I just don’t want to think we’re taking up your Saturday.”

“You’re not getting out of letting me buy breakfast that easy, you promised this time it’s on me,” she playfully pokes at his chest in reminder. He’ll let her pay this time; it just means he has another chance of insisting they buy her breakfast next time. He’s not going to complain about more mornings spent like this.

She turns to Jack as he bounds noisily in to the living room, thankfully both shoes on, and without looking towards Hotch, she asks, “Ready to go?”

“Ready!” Jack’s clasped on to one of her hands, arms swinging happily between them as they wait for Hotch to lock up. As the three of them leave together, even he can’t deny how well they fit. 

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (they’re idiots. they’re in love)

**Author's Note:**

> chapter two should be up sometime this week, thanks for reading!


End file.
